Unattainable Touch
by Eiswolf-Zero
Summary: When John got drunk one night a guy appears in his kitchen. John thinks he's a dream but this guy reappears again, high as a kite. Alcohol, drug abuse, Johnlock. Kinda superatural.
1. 1st Meeting

Here's an idea I came up with while I was at home for a weak because of a very bad cold. Once I told it to my bff she was all for it and made me write it. She is so kind and corrects it and delivered the title for the story.

Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters

* * *

Usually John wasn't someone prone to get himself really drunk. Yet he did have a bad day and he figured one beer wouldn't hurt.

One beer turned to a second beer that day and before he knew it he felt a decent buzz in the back of his head. Figuring out that he should probably stop now, he stood up from his cosy chair in front of the fire and made his way into the kitchen only to stop at the sign before him.

There, at his kitchen table, sat a handsome bloke looking down a microscope (John was pretty sure he didn't own one) as if this was his flat.

At first John thought he might have had a beer too many, especially when that bloke seemed semi-transparent. But when he blinked a few times and hummed in confusion the scene settled. Not a hallucination then, probably, maybe.

John still wasn't to do something.

"Uhm…"

"Just a moment" came the uninterested reply. The bloke didn't even look up from the microscope, which was a good thing because that voice sent a shiver down John's spine for a moment. He wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Actually, no, I would like to know now what you are doing in my kitchen." Finally voicing his confusion and irritation he held his breath and waited.

The other turned around at last, saying something. John though he should listen to what the other had to say but he was pretty sure that words (or ears) failed him for a moment. That bloke really was handsome, now that he could also see his face.

Dark curly hair, a pale complexion and the strangest face. The lips sported a beautiful cupid's bow, high cheekbones made him look kind of otherworldly. And then there were the eyes. John could probably spend a whole book page about what those eyes looked like. The first word that came to his mind was piercing.

After his inspection was over he noticed that the room had gone quiet again. The guy was looking at him in a bored and mildly irritated way.

"Uhm…sorry, I..what?" he stammered.

"I do hate to repeat myself" the disdain was quite clear in his voice. "I said, clearly you aren't a client. You don't look like someone who needs my help. The fact that you are drunk and have cushion impressions on your skin points out that you were relaxed a few minutes ago. Though I haven't worked out what you are doing in my kitchen. I don't like not knowing. Could it be that you walked in here, in your drunken stupor?"

Colour rose to John's cheek. "So what, I may have had a beer or two" The bloke snorted here. The reason for his light blush changed from anger to embarrassment rather quickly. "And…and I didn't walk in here in a 'drunken stupor' I live here. Rightfully. So what the fuck are you doing here?!"

"Oh I see, you are the angry kind of drunk and-"  
"You make me the angry kind!"  
"- I am living here for a few months now. I think I would have noticed if I had a retired army soldier as a flatmate"

"What?" What? echoed the word in his head. His anger vaporised and confusion took its place. "How do you know about that? Do you stalk me?"

The bloke made a dramatic hand gesture and stood up, towering over John. "Easy" came the almost lazy drawl before the speed in which the guy spoke picked up. "It may have been a while but you still have a tan, though not above the wrists, that you won't get anywhere in London. The way you immediately straightened out into military stance when you saw me was another clue. Also your haircut, it's a bit grown out but I can see you with the typical military haircut, it fits the whole picture quite well" How curly hairs didn't need to speak was a mystery he couldn't solve while drunk, so he didn't think too much about it.

"Wait, you got that from simply looking at me? Just like that? That's amazing" John earned a sceptic expression after is exclamation.

"That's not what people usually say, you must have more alcohol in your bloodstream than I thought"

"What do people usually say to you?" John wondered when this conversation turned from 'What are you doing in my flat' to 'Tell me everything I want to know about you'.

"Piss off" John slowly started to grin with that answer and couldn't help himself, he just snorted and started to laugh. "Really? I can't imagine why." Once he stopped laughing he simply stood there and met the others eyes.

Silence reigned in the room. John could feel the gaze traveling over him, taking him apart to get answers even he wasn't sure he could give. He cleared his throat and blinked a few times, for good measure.

"So, what about the flat? What's even your name?" Clearly, he had his priorities but he was still curious about that the guy, starting with the name. "I'm John, John Watson, by the way" John even held out his hand.

"Sherlock Holmes", came the simple reply. At first Sherlock (what a strange name) made no movement but then moved forward to grab the hand only to simply pass through it.

Both stared at John's hand. It tingled in a kind of nice way but that could have been his imagination.

"So…I really just drank a beer too much and you are a hallucination or I fell asleep and this is some really weird ass dream." Pity. Sherlock really was handsome and he would have been thrilled to get to know someone as strange as he seemed to be. John could imagine all the people Sherlock pissed off.

It was probably hilarious and frustrating at the same time.

Sherlock sighed and shook his head which made his curls move around. "I'm not a hallucination, I can assure you that. But…I must confess that I'm not sure what just happened or why my hand didn't touch yours" Sherlock even looked unsure and uncomfortable about it. He really wasn't used to not knowing, mused John.

"Or maybe one of my experiments went wrong and you are the hallucination" Sherlock mused, starring up and down Johns figure.

This wasn't getting them anywhere. John sighed weary. "You know what? It's been a long and not pleasant day and I'm tired. I'll just go to sleep. The only positive thing about this is that I now know that my mind can make up quite interesting blokes. Night"

John made a lazy wave with his hand and started to walk through the kitchen, moving around Sherlock. Just because he was a hallucination or dream didn't mean it wasn't impolite to walk directly through the body.

He made it to the door of his bedroom when he heard Sherlock talk from the kitchen.

"Where are you going, that's my bedroom!" he complained. John couldn't care less, since the other wasn't real. John just continued to the bed, still the way his looked, and flopped down on it. He braced himself mentally for the discussion Sherlock would probably start and moved his face away from the pillow to stare blearily at the door.

He had forgotten to turn off the light.

John blinked a few times but when no one entered his bedroom door he snorted. So he had been right.

Really, a pity.

He closed his eyes without thinking about his state of dress and succumbed to sleep.

* * *

John woke with a start. It wasn't a slow or gentle process. He was suddenly awake and his head was pounding behind his eyes.

He groaned into the room and tried to will he pain away by breathing in and out in a calm way. It didn't really work. With a final exhale through his nose he pushed himself up and stretched and rolled his shoulders.

Still a bit sleepy he put his feet out of the bed and onto the floor. John stood up and went into the bathroom, taking care of his morning routine and taking something against the headache.

Once that was done he went into the kitchen and simply stood there starring at his table.

There was no microscope or some dark haired bloke named Sherlock.

"So it had been a dream" he mumbled to himself and went to make himself a breakfast that wouldn't upset his stomach. Some toast probably. While he wasn't exactly sick he had a distinct queasy feeling in the pit of it.

Sitting down at his kitchen table (still no microscope) John wondered how he came up with the name Sherlock Holmes. It wasn't really something that someone just knew. Was this even a real name?

John resolved to look it up on the Internet.


	2. 2nd Meeting

The second time it happened John just came home with the groceries. He walked directly into the kitchen to place his goods on the table. Quite content with his purchases, he put them away and took the newspaper he had bought along with the food.

John needed to find a new job, the last one hadn't been bad but constantly seeing your ex-girlfriend didn't really help anyone.

Already flipping the newspaper open he walked over to his chair and let himself fall back into it. Just as he focused on the words before him he heard a sound.

A deep content hum.

A shiver ran down John's spine and he looked over the newspaper towards the couch.

There on his couch was Sherlock, sprawled out over the length of it. He was wearing a silk dressing gown and underneath was a tattered shirt and loose pants. His head rested on the arm of the couch, the curly hair sprawled over it. One hand pressed into the elbow of the other arm, apparently massaging a spot.

"Sherlock?!" John asked dumbfounded. Was he really there? As far as John knew he hadn't had a drink today, he had not even had over ripe fruits.

The handsome bloke had been a figment of his imagination when he had a beer too many. That's what John had thought until now.

Quickly pinching himself in the arm, he noticed it hurt but he didn't wake up, he was sure that he wasn't asleep. Not a dream then. But why was Sherlock here?

Slowly the curly haired turned his head to John, as if Johns words only now made it to Sherlock's ears.

" _Oh!_ John Watson!" Sherlock drawled in a pleasant manner, almost as if he was quite happy with the world and himself. "That quite settles the question whose hallucination who was." A deep chuckle followed that remark.

John found himself still confused. "What do you mean? I'm not drunk and as far as I know no one hit me on the head. That means you aren't one."

"Exactly, I am not the hallucination. You are." Sherlock's eyes wandered over John but not in the same way as last time. The other seemed slower and kind of out of it "Jesus Sherlock! Are you high?!"

John sprang up as soon as he had come to the conclusion. Walking over to the couch he longed to take the others vitals but remembered last time when they had tried to shake hands. This time he felt prepared and made for Sherlock's wrist which now rested on top of his torso.

Johns hand went through the wrist, even through the torso before he pulled it back. Just like last time.

Only now did he notice Sherlock grinning up at him, he hadn't even moved an inch.

"Very clever John! Last time it must have been an experiment gone bad and this time it's clearly the drugs. Rather…interesting that my mind decided to create you again. I see no need for you…it." Sherlock slowly said.

This sounded so different compared to the quick speech he had received from Sherlock about himself.

Frowning John sat down on the coffee table, acknowledging the syringe lying there directly next to him. "Sherlock what did you take?" John demanded to know. "I'm not a hallucination, I can assure you that. I admit that…passing through each other is kind of super weird and fucked up but I am real and apparently so are you."

John tried to see reason in all of this but he was the most confused human being on earth right now.

He shook his head to let these thoughts drift away for now. He needed to concentrate on Sherlock and he hadn't received an answer yet. Looking at Sherlock's face John noted that his eyes were closed as if he was sleeping.

"No, no, no! Sherlock, Sherlock listen open your eyes!" John wanted to grab Sherlock's hand so badly or shake his shoulder but he knew what would happen. He wouldn't let that stop him though.

He bent forward so that he was kneeling in front of the couch and placed his hands in a way so it would seem that he touched Sherlock's cheeks. John barely touched the other but could still feel a slight tingle in his palms where they graced Sherlock's face.

"Sherlock, open your eyes, don't fall asleep. What did you take?" What John really wanted to do was to claps on the others cheeks but he had to work with this. Letting this strange tingling continue seemed to work for him. Sherlock opened his eyes slowly.

"What?" Sherlock grunted, he actually sounded sleepy too. "Are you tickling me? Morphine if you must now." There, an answer. Finally.

John sighed in relieve, he felt safer now, knowing what Sherlock had taken. "Stay awake with me, could you do that?" John didn't remove his hands, apparently this tingling kept Sherlock awake for now.

"I could but I don't want to." the other drawled and began to close his eyes again. He only kept them open because John started to make a rubbing motion with his hands through his chin, almost as if he caressed it with his thumb.

"Why don't you want to?"  
"Because you _bore_ me John, what a boring hallucination."  
"I could talk to you about something."

That seemed to raise Sherlock's spirits and interest. "About what?" His eyes were open now, because Sherlock wanted them to and not because John kept bothering him.

"About you." John dared to grin a little. "I googled your name and found your website." It wasn't much but it seemed to awaken the curiosity in Sherlock.

"What do you think of it?" Sherlock asked while he moved his moved it as if it was heavy, towards his own face. Sherlock wanted to wave Johns hand away. Of course it didn't work. "Stop that John."

John slowly removed his hands but stared where he was kneeling on the floor. "I can't really say anything about it. You started the website and posted one thing. Your last and actually first update is dated a few years back."

Sherlock frowned at this, shaking his head in a slow motion. His curls quietly rustled against the couch. "That's wrong. I constantly update it. My analysis of tobacco ash or the article with the same title as the website. Clients contact me through it; it's how I get some of my cases."

That explanation seemed to drain Sherlock's energy because he just hummed after that, closing his eyes for a few seconds before blinking them open again.

" _Tobacco ash_?" John mouthed at himself before speaking up again. Sherlock shouldn't just fall asleep yet. "Wait you said clients and I remember the first time we met you said I'm clearly not a client. What clients? What do you do Sherlock?" Sherlock's website hadn't been really providing with answers and John really wanted to know more about this strange bloke that kept appearing in his flat.

Sherlock smirked at John, it turned out kind off loopy. "I'm a consulting detective. No, I am _the_ consulting detective. Only one in the world. The deduction I did of you, that's how I work."

John blinked at him. He hadn't expected that but then again, who would have. "Consulting detective? Never heard of that before, you probably made it up huh?" He asked amused. John could see Sherlock doing that, creating his own place in society because he certainly didn't seem to bow to the norm.

Sherlock however didn't seem amused by his answer. Sherlock actually appeared to be snarling at John. "I didn't make it up! It's true. Just because you can't grasp the mere concept of-

"Woah Sherlock wait wait!" John hastily interrupted Sherlock, seeing in which direction this could go. "I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that! I meant that you came up with the job, that you created it. I do believe you, every word." John tried to sound as sincere as he could.

Sherlock seemed to deflate with every word that John said. He seemed to melt back into the couch, the tension leaving his body. "I…apologize, I must have misunderstood." Sherlock mumbled, almost not audible for John. Sherlock probably never apologized for anything.

"It's alright Sherlock, really. I could have said it in a different way, don't worry." John tried to sound assuring. The drugs probably did their part in confusing Sherlock. He wasn't sure when Sherlock had injected himself but the high must come off soon,at least that's what John thought.

Sherlock seemed content in lying there, as if he really was living in this flat, staring at the ceiling in what could have been a contemplating gaze. If he wouldn't have been high and probably just thinking he was the happiest person on earth (or something along the line). John didn't know Sherlock well enough to guess what he was thinking while on drugs.

John would have been content himself, just sitting there and watching Sherlock. The dark haired one was rather fascinating to watch. But John wanted to know more too.

"So you solve mysteries for people, right? Thefts and the like?" John asked. Sherlock slowly looked at him and huffed.

"That too but I mostly help the police solve murders. They wouldn't know what to do with a footprint if there would be an instruction beside it." Sherlock snorted, apparently amused by this. "So incompetent."

John would have loved to pat Sherlock on the tight. "Now, now, don't be like this because otherwise you wouldn't have your occupation. But solving murders! Must be awfully exciting." When John compared his life to the one Sherlock described then his seemed rather boring.

Now that he was without a job more than ever.

"As exciting as it can get." Sherlock looked up at the ceiling again. "It is so boring right now. No good murders John, I had to make my thoughts stop." Sherlock almost seemed to whine about the last part.

John mused over this. Was this why Sherlock took the morphine? "Sherlock, what thoughts do you mean?"

Sherlock yawned before he answered, feeling more tired as the minutes ticked by. "My brain is a high functioning machine, when I have nothing to do it turns onto itself. It tears me apart, I needed the quiet."

"And what is it that tears you apart? What kind of thoughts?" John wanted to know. The way Sherlock described it made it sound like gears grinding against each other which would translate for John to a massive headache. Surely that wasn't reason enough to take drugs.

It was silent after John's questions.

Just when he thought that he would receive no answer Sherlock's gaze turned to him again. There was something in his eyes, even if they were dulled by the drugs and looked sleepy. There was something that bothered John.

He opened his mouth to voice further questions but Sherlock's attitude seemed to change. As if he simply locked away the look and everything behind it and grinned at John.

"Let's try something. I'll look you up too. Maybe I find more about you and next time we see each other I'll tell you."

"Next time? So you think this will happen again, whatever this is?" John asked curiously. He would love to see Sherlock again even if it could mean that he had gone mad. But he doubted that his brain could come up with such a brilliant character.

Sherlock nodded as an answer. "Maybe a pattern will show how it comes to this. If you really aren't a hallucination." And then he grinned again. "I could give you something to do too. Maybe my website is just faulty; you could ask people about me." Sherlock nodded to himself once again after talking. As if it would be a good idea going outside and asking people after a bloke you weren't even sure existed (even if there was a certain website).

"Sherlock I'm not going down the street and asking every person that walks by me after you." John assured in a stern voice. There were some things he really wouldn't do.

"Well, then I'll have to be very nice and give you a name of a person who should know me" This time Sherlock's grin became lopsided. Whatever he thought up must have been most amusing to him.

John stood up and earned a bewildered gaze from Sherlock but he immediately put up his hands to stop the protest. "I'm going to get pen and paper to write the name down. If you really want to do it like this"

He found the utensils quite quickly and sat down on the couch table again, waiting. "Well? Tell me."

"John, because I'm in such a good mood right now I'm going to give you two names: DI Lestrade and Molly Hooper. You'll find one of them at the St. Bartholomew's Hospital" Sherlock snuggled himself into the couch while he told John the name of the location and put a blanket over himself.

John blinked for a second and paused his writing. He was pretty sure there hadn't been a blanket on the back of his couch but it had suddenly appeared when Sherlock had felt for it behind his back and touched it.

He quickly came back to his paper and continued to write the information down he had received. "Alright got it and how are you going to look me up? Should I give you a tip too? Sherlock?" John looked up from his paper.

Sherlock had made himself as small as possible and had draped the blanket over himself. He seemed to have fallen asleep.

"Hey Sherlock." John bent forward again and put his hand lightly on Sherlock's shoulder, feeling the tingling start again. But Sherlock didn't react this time.

John figured that he wouldn't be able to wake Sherlock this time, he had been keeping him awake longer than Sherlock probably had liked. Sighing he stood up and took the paper to the kitchen where he prepared himself a cup of tea.

He mused over the names. One worked at the hospital, that wasn't too hard. Sherlock could only mean this Molly Hooper since the other was a did this mean he had to go to New Scotland Yard and ask around there? Well wouldn't that be fun.

John put the paper into his pocket and took his freshly made tea back to the living room with the intent to sit down and muse over Sherlock.

He stopped short after the glass door and stared at the couch.

It was empty.

There was no Sherlock, no blanket and the syringe had vanished too.


	3. 4th? Meeting

John closed the door behind him, leaving the cold air outside.

It had been a nice day and an even nicer evening. John had been out with Stamford, an old acquaintance of his, enjoying a beer or two.

Now that he was home, John tried not to wake up Mrs. Hudson since her lights were already just wanted to crawl into his bed and sleep in the next day.

Making his way upstairs he thought for a moment that he had heard a violin being played. John stopped with one leg in the air and a hand on the railing and listened but when he heard nothing he shrugged with his shoulders. He must have imagined it then.

Continuing his way up he opened the door and went into the living room, already getting out of his jacket and tossing it on the couch. He turned on the light and squinted. Something wasn't right.

The light seemed dimmer than he remembered it being. Maybe it was defective.

John shook his head and turned towards the kitchen with the intention to crawl into his bed and sleep, he stopped however when he noticed someone standing at the window.

He immediately straightened his back. "Hey! Who are you and... Sherlock?!" John immediately deflated upon recognizing Sherlock's shape.

Sherlock simply stood there, looking out of the window with a violin in his hand and a bow in the other. So he hadn't imagined the music then.

"Of course you play the violin." John groaned and slapped his face lightly. Why wouldn't Sherlock play a difficult instrument, even very well from what he had thought he had imagined.

When Sherlock didn't react to him John became worried. He hadn't seen the detective for two weeks now and had almost started to worry that his initial thought had been true. That Sherlock was a hallucination and he was just going mad.

"Sherlock?" he called out in the room. "Or can only _I_ see you this time? Can this get any weirder, Jesus"

Just when John wanted to walk up to Sherlock did the other move. He turned around, almost as if in slow motion. No one should look that handsome by just turning around. What was wrong with that guy?

John received a look that indicated that Sherlock wasn't happy with him, but at least John knew now that Sherlock was indeed back. "What? Are you cross with me now? You're not talking anymore?"

Sherlock just held his head higher as if he looked down on John, even from afar. "You weren't there the last time I was high," the detective sniffed. It sounded almost hurt.

"Of course I was there. You were just high as a kite. Maybe you just don't remember." John was confused, wouldn't Sherlock at least remember something from that night? Maybe a distinct feeling that they had met more than once?

"Please John, don't say stupid things like that. I remember everything that I choose not to delete. I meant the last time I got weren't there."

"Wait hold on," John held up his hand in a stop motion, walking over to his chair to sit down. "First things first: When was the 'last time you got high'? And why should we have met exactly there? This is rather random to me." He wasn't even going to ask after the deleting stuff thing for now. He was drunk and needed to tackle one thing at a time.

Sherlock just placed his violin on the table and started to sit down in the chair opposite of John, he still had the bow and made gestures along with his talking. "I got high two days ago," he still did that looking-down-on-John thing but it seemed more with the intention to convey how cross he was for being alone. John wasn't certain; he didn't know Sherlock that well. What a pity.

"As for your other question: It became obvious to me when I got high two days ago. You weren't there which wouldn't have been strange to me at all since meeting seemed random, like you said. What tipped me off was that there was suddenly stuff in my flat that didn't belong to me. Of course I own a few medical books but I do know every single one that I own. Suddenly there were more." Sherlock spoke fast but still understandable.

But John just didn't get the time to speak up, when he opened his mouth Sherlock carried on.

"What really convinced me was the fact that one of my pillows wasn't on the bed anymore. No I didn't misplace it; in its place was another pillow, not mine, that distinctly smelled like you."

John didn't even close his mouth and sat there like a gaping fish. He wasn't sure what he should ask first or if he should complain first. Sherlock had been lying in his bed, technically speaking, high and _smelling_ his pillow?

Sherlock just stared at Johns open mouth for a few seconds. When it was clear that there wouldn't be anything coming from John he continued again. "Since this would have been the third time were we would have met I came to the conclusion that the pattern is quite simple and this meeting is only confirming it. We meet when one of us is high or drunk. Simple really," though Sherlock would have loved to know the cause of _why_ it was happening.

"Anyway, we should probably tackle this issue right now. Are you moving your bedroom upstairs?"

If John had thought he had been shocked so far he truly was now. Sherlock even had the guts to look serious about that.

" _What_?! What do you mean moving upstairs, why should I move out of my bedroom?" He couldn't believe this, what was happening right now?

"Well," Sherlock started with a drawl "If we keep meeting and our stuff starts to appear around the others flat it's only logical, we're technically flatmates now. We should both have our own space."

John wasn't sure how to respond to that besides with staring. He had to gather his thoughts for a minute before he could even think about voicing what he had on his mind. "And why should I move out? You can move upstairs! It's the bigger bedroom, why should you have it? What if we never meet again, we don't know what's causing it and it could stop anytime, right?"

But being angry at Sherlock's request didn't hold on for long. Upon seeing the look he received John deflated and felt a bit guilty and he wasn't even sure what he had done wrong now.

Sherlock looked almost sad and he wasn't sure if Sherlock ever looked sad in front of anyone. Maybe he wasn't even meant to catch that expression as it passed over the others face.

"You don't want to meet again?" _Oh boy_ , did Sherlock want to meet him? Keep seeing him?

"Of…of course I want to meet again but Sherlock, you have to think about it. I'm not someone who gets drunk very often and I don't want you to shoot up again. You have to stop that." That had been bothering John since the last time he had seen Sherlock. Someone so brilliant shouldn't do drugs.

"And how do you propose to do this then?! If I want to meet you I simply need to get a bit of Morphine into me, simple." Sherlock scoffed but John immediately leaned forward, a stern look on his face.

"Listen, I will _not_ be the excuse for you to shoot up, do you understand me?"

There was an uncomfortable silence where neither of the men spoke. They just looked at each other, both of them standing up for what they had said.

Sherlock hit himself softly on the shoulder with his bow before he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Let's talk about our game, did you gather information?" Sherlock opened his eyes again and looked at John.

What a smooth change of topic. Not.

"Well," John didn't change his position, leaning slightly forward to show that he was still upset about the drugs no matter what topic. "I guess I should thank you. The reason why I wasn't around two days ago is because I got a job and I got a job because I talked to Molly." John explained.

Sherlock looked interested at John. "And? What did you find out, tell me already," his deep voice got eager with each word, his curiosity winning for now.

"Glad you're happy for me," John replied in a sarcastic tone since Sherlock hadn't reacted at all to the job thing. "I looked up Molly first since I believed that she would be easier to talk too compared to a detective inspector. Molly is really nice, a shy little girl. We talked a little bit before I brought you up. She has never heard your name before; at least she said she doesn't remember someone with that name."

Sherlock listened intently and didn't move a muscle as long as John talked.

"How strange, the Molly I know is very infatuated with me. She doesn't get the hint. So I assume that you had to talk to Lestrade." Sherlock put his hand in a prayer position and placed them under his chin.

John felt as if he was part of an investigation. Far too tired to be sitting in the light directed at his face or in this case Sherlock.

"Yeah, DI Lestrade was more difficult then Molly. If Molly didn't know you, what would be the chances with DI Lestrade. It would look strange if I asked someone I've never met about a random bloke."

"Stop stalling John, tell me what you found, I don't need to hear every little detail."

John scoffed. "Hey, let me tell you this the way I want, you started it and you wanted to know, so keep quiet."

There was silence again and John only continued when it became clear that Sherlock had gotten the message.

"So I was down at New Scotland Yard and asked after a DI Lestrade. He wasn't in at the moment; they said he was at a crime scene so I had every intention to return another day when this guy walked up to me. His face looked as if he had a permanent scowl. He wanted to know what I wanted from Lestrade; apparently he was one of Lestrades people, so I told him that I just wanted to ask after an old acquaintance of mine, a Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

John stopped in his narrative and breathed in and out. He could feel Sherlock bursting with anticipation over what John had found out.

"This guy, Anderson was his name, actually remembered your name. He didn't speak very nice of you and told me that I was late to ask after you. He said that you had helped Lestrade on two cases before you were found dead. Overdosed on drugs."It seemed that Sherlock had made a lasting impression on those two cases.

John hadn't even wanted to believe it at first but since he had accepted that a handsome bloke kept reappearing in his flat he could also accept the fact that Sherlock was dead in his world (dimension?).

Sherlock absorbed the information and dragged his fingertips, his hands were still in their prayer position, across his lips, drawing Johns attention to it.

"Interesting, I would say coincidence but I don't really believe in coincidences," replied Sherlock with a grin in the corner of his mouth. John just blinked confused at the other. "What do you mean?"

"That I did my research too John or should I say Dr. John Hamish Watson. You didn't tell me that you are a doctor." Sherlock still grinned as if he had the upper hand here.

"You didn't deduce it."After his dry reply Sherlock seemed to have become speechless. It actually took a few seconds before he spoke again. "Touché, doctor."

"Anyway, I deduce now that you don't like your middle name, quite interesting, the face you pulled." Sherlock nodded to himself and didn't even wait for confirmation and continued. "Unfortunately I found out the same about you. You have been shot in Afghanistan and died of your injury there."

It became silent again between them while both ingested that information. Was this the reason why they met?

"Wait, how did you find that out?" John asked confused. It was a good thing he wasn't really smashed or otherwise all this information would even take longer to register, let alone stay.

Sherlock placed his hands on the armrests and held his nose high again. "It does have advantages when your brother practically is the British government. Though he didn't know. I simply hacked the military data base." The detective seemed to snort at the end of the sentence, showing off how easy it had been, "Hardly the work of an hour."

"What I find interesting about all of this is that you still have been shot. The only difference: you have survived, while your other self in my world hasn't," Sherlock concluded while slowly looking up as if to sort his thoughts. John was kind enough to continue. "You have overdosed and killed yourself. The only difference is, now you're just on your way there."

John sounded displeased about this, because Sherlock taking too much still was an optioned here. He had been shot and that was over. He had survived, came back to London and found something he called home. But Sherlock was still taking the drugs like his other self and John wasn't sure how out of control Sherlocks addiction was.

Sherlocks gaze wandered back to John. He gripped the armrests a little tighter before letting his hands relax entirely. Displaying the very picture of indifference. "Well, you needn't worry about me too much in the next future then. There is a serial killer on the loose in London and I suspect that Lestrade will show up soon to beg for my help. I don't take Morphine on cases. I only take it when I'm without The Work."

"Don't sound so pouty," John replied, feeling the tug of a grin on his mouth but keeping it firm. Sherlock needed to understand how displeased he was about the drugs.

Sherlock muttered a low _"I'm not pouty,"_ but John didn't let that stop him and continued to talk. "I'm glad that you won't be taking drugs in the near future and I would be very glad if you would stop altogether, but _,_ and let me finish my sentence Sherlock, _but_ I would be lying if I said that I didn't want to see you anymore. You are an interesting bloke Sherlock and I'd love to see you more often. Even if it means having a ridiculous discussion about the bedroom, which we are not going to have. I mean it."

John let himself relax into his chair after that little speech, obviously tired from the day, alcohol and this conversation. He was also quite content with had felt good to get that off his chest.

He needed to blink a few times to let his mind register that Sherlock had gone completely still, not even a tiny little reaction.

No. That wasn't true.

There was a blush creeping up his long neck. John watched in a fascinated manner how it reached Sherlocks cheeks. He looked delicious.

John groaned after that thought and massaged the area between his eyes with his hands. He hadn't had a problem so far thinking of Sherlock as handsome. But delicious?

"Well," Sherlock started but clearly needed another try since his voice seemed to fail him. The detective cleared his throat and made another attempt. "Well, then we have a problem John. Staying…sober isn't working in our favour then."

John just smiled, strangely optimistic at the moment. "You'll find a way around it Sherlock. You're a genius are you not? And this is a proper mystery." John also might have the thought, in the back of his mind, that this mystery between them will keep Sherlock away from the drugs. If he could view this as a case he wouldn't take them, he had said so himself.

Sherlocks blush didn't back down. The compliments were clearly well received, something that pleased John.

Sherlock opened his mouth but took a few seconds to start talking. John must have really flustered him this time. "I…thank you John, I'll look into it."

He nodded at John before standing up. "You should go to bed, I can see you are tired and…even though I would love to keep you up I wouldn't endanger your new job. I just managed you to get it."

The corner of Sherlocks mouth moved up, giving John a smile that felt exclusive for the both of them.

"However," the smile grew more into a grin, "I do insist that we talk about the bedroom situation. I have a distinct feeling that you would mind if we suddenly find ourselves beside each other in it."

John just rewarded the other with a smirk on his own while he stood up. He wouldn't really mind if he woke up and find himself in the same bed as Sherlock but Sherlock didn't need to know that right now.

"Then I hope you're not insisting on it now because you're right and I'm tired. And I must look it too. I haven't been sent to bed in quite a few years now." John chuckled while he started to walk towards _his_ bedroom.

Before he reached the door however could he hear Sherlocks deep baritone behind him in the kitchen. "Sleep well John, maybe see you soon."

John slowly opened his bedroom door and nodded. "Maybe see you soon too Sherlock, hopefully both of us sober." He waved with his other hand and entered his bedroom.

After he shut the door behind him John simply stood there. He marvelled at the thought how someone like Sherlock could be real.

He chuckled lowly to himself and shook his head. He had accepted quite fast that something like this happened to him and he wasn't even sure why. Maybe he was just bored out of his mind.

John stripped down to his briefs and flopped down on the bed, his side, because Sherlock had been right. One of those pillows was his and the other was new to him. He blinked, his gaze transfixed on Sherlocks pillow.

It seemed that he didn't even get to choose his side, this magic thing (or whatever it was) had already done that.

Curiosity got the better of him and he reach out to it. Johns hand hovered uncertain above it. Would the same happen like whenever he tried to touch Sherlock? Only one way to find out.

He lowered his hand softly and watched in fascination as the pillow slowly gave away under his hand. John could feel the fabric, different from the one he used, and slowly stroked it. Only when he tried to truly grab it did his hand go through, the tingling sensation taking its place.

John stared at his hand which was currently not visible to him, mourning the lost feeling. He retracted his hand and positioned himself properly on his bed.

He closed his eyes after he stared at the pillow a few minutes and settled himself to finally go to sleep.

Just before he truly fell asleep did he wonder if what he was smelling was the pillow. Is this how Sherlock smelled? He wouldn't mind smelling on the detectives curled hair to prove that theory.

Slightly grinning to himself he let the real world go and succumbed to sleep.


	4. 5th Meeting

_In which there's accidently hip touching (if they could touch). Also we start with ASIP and I came to the conclusion that I need to involve another case because otherwise this one here will feel too short._

 _Thank you for your kind reviews!_

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Four days later John woke up with a start. It was a bang that had woken him up.

Blearily he opened his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to see the time on the clock. Not even 5 in the morning.

Groaning he dropped his head back, hugging the pillow tighter to himself and trying to go back to sleep. Slowly dragging his nose over the pillow he realized the he never hugged his pillow before. John also realized, albeit very sluggish, that the pillow didn't smell like his bed usually smelt.

Taking another deep breath, because the pillow smelled very nice, he opened his eyes again and starred at the pillow-that-was-not-his. It looked like the last time he had seen Sherlocks pillow but that couldn't be it. He was touching the thing, even hugging it. He always went through Sherlocks stuff as if it wasn't really th-

John was suddenly hugging himself, his hands had moved through the pillow and said thing dropped to the side, no longer in a tight grip.

Confused and blinking with still tired eyes he stared at it. It was way too early for this kind of shit.

Way too early for him to be awake. _Why was he awake?_ What had woken him up? John remembered a noise but it hadn't reappeared again.

The noise. Right. He sighed and rolled over into a sitting position and pressed the palms of his hands onto his eyes, trying to get more awake. It wasn't really working but he stood up anyway.

John could see light coming through under the door when he walked towards it. It was either Mrs. Hudson or Sherlock. Probably Sherlock, based on the time and the pillow. So he threw open the door and marched towards the living room, since the kitchen was empty except for a few science things on the table.

"Sherlock, do you really have to be so lo- oh my god what have you done?!" The living room was one chaotic mess. There were pictures on the wall with various notes on them, folders were lying around and occupying space that was otherwise free in Johns flat. And his table was turned around, as if simply flipped over.

"What did you do to _my_ table? Was that the noise? What is even going on?!"John stared at Sherlock who was standing on the couch, tacking another note on a picture and obviously not bothered by the chaos around him.

Sherlock just hummed back and jumped down from the couch, almost swirling around and grinning at John. "Hello to you too John~, technically it's _my_ table and you have yours, but," and he looked over to the flipped table and held his head cocked to the side, "I can see where you're coming from. Apparently my table has merged with yours." As if this was a normal occurrence.

"Wh..Sherlock it's…it's way too early for this. What did you do to _the_ table?! For gods sake." John had the desperate urge to rub his eyes and wish himself back to bed but since he knew that Sherlock was really there and probably goddamn _right_ he stayed and listened.

Sherlock just walked over to the fireplace and starred into the mirror. It seemed that he looked at the opposite wall and his notes. He suddenly turned around and walked back over to the couch, actually stepping over the flipped table as if this was normal. Many things used to be normal around here.

" _Sherlock_ ," John pressed, and said detective seemed to remember that John was there. "Oh, don't be dull John. I flipped it, don't you see?"  
"But why? W _hy_ at this hour, why even?!"  
Sherlock huffed exasperated. "I am stuck with my case and my chest felt like it was going to burst, hence the table flipping. I feel great now, the only thing missing is a breakthrough in the case. Oh what a wonderful case John! The serial killer that I told you about! Lestrade finally came to me." At the end of it Sherlock was grinning and almost giggling but seemed to hold himself back. For now.

John's brain however stayed stuck on the thing about Sherlocks chest, because Sherlock was here, with him and his chest felt like exploding. "What drug did you take? I thought you're taking morphine ' _Once in a while_.'" Meanwhile the urge was strong to check the others vitals. Pulse, heartbeat and the likes but he knew what would happen. He knew.

But John stepped forward anyway because of the pillow in _his_ bed. Not _theirs_ , not thinking that way (don't even start). And there was the table. It had merged and Sherlock had flipped it, not just touched it but had applied force and changed its position.

Things seemed to change and why shouldn't they be able to touch too? John needed to try. For professional least those were his prime concerns (excuses).

Sherlock hadn't gifted him with an answer yet but watched amused as John came closer and meant to grab his hands.

Johns own pulse started to hammer its way through his very cells and he felt himself become nervous. Which was silly. As a doctor it's normal for him to touch people. Granted they didn't look like Sherlock or weren't as interesting as him but people where people.

His body's reaction told him otherwise because there was also Sherlock. Someone on his own. Different.

Honestly, John felt already worn out from this encounter and he had only just woken up. He hadn't even reached Sherlocks hand yet. Time to do so. One finger twitched shortly before there was skin on skin contact. His brain told him so, he could almost feel it too.

Only that his hand went straight through the others hand, and to add humiliation to the whole thing also through a part of Sherlocks hip. Tingling followed the passing through. For John only in his hand but for Sherlock in is hand and hip. The detective raised an eyebrow.

"Why, John, wanting to hold hands? If you're so desperate to know: it´s Cocaine. I take it from time to time to solve the crimes faster. It helps me think. It makes my brain run at even faster pace and I usually solve the case by then but now…" Sherlock looked over to the picture again, pouting and obvious to the blush on John's cheeks.

He hadn't meant to touch (pass through) Sherlocks hip but now he felt as if his thoughts couldn't be pulled away from it. He cleared his throat and forces himself to think about Sherlocks state. Once again drugged up (why he was here) and jumping topics at an alarming speed.

"You really should stop with the drugs Sherlock. Feeling as if your chest is about to burst isn't a good thing, not at all and you know that. You can solve the case anyway, the time won't make that bit a difference with your genius involved." John stated and followed Sherlocks gaze, studying the pictures from his position.

The first answer he got was a kind of snort which brought his gaze back to Sherlocks face. "It makes all the difference. Especially when a serial killer is involved. It's a race against the killer. Do I find him first or does he kill first. An excellent thrill." Sherlocks face broke into a grin and John frowned. Did Sherlock need excuses to take the drugs or did he honestly think that way?

John was silent and stared at Sherlock who started to fidget. Not because of his stare but because he seemed to become restless, needing to move. If John couldn't take his vitals he could stay up and observe Sherlock in his state making sure to prevent anything bad happened. How he wasn't sure but he would figure it out.

"Let's do it like this: I'll make myself a cuppa, sit down and you tell me about this case. Alright?" John already made his way into the kitchen and started to boil some water. He could hear Sherlock following him and stop at the entrance.

Sherlock seemed to watch him make tea and John would have gladly made him a cuppa too if that wouldn't have been pointless. He didn't even want to think what would happen if he put his tea in a cup from Sherlock or stuff like that. It would make his brain probably hurt.

"Why would you want to hear about the case?" Sherlock finally asked and seemed genuinely confused, judging by the tone of his voice. John just prepared his tea. Only milk was missing now and so he made his way over to the fridge.

"Because it might help if you talk to someone about it. I'm not a genius but maybe I can point out something weird, who knows. It can only help in th-What the hell is th _is a fucking head_?!" John immediately closed the fridge and needed to breathe for a second.

"Jesus Sherlock, is there a head in the fridge? _In the fridge_?!" It had been directly starring at John. He might never get the hiccups again. Bracing himself he breathed in deeply and opened the fridge again, ignoring the fucking starring head and grabbed the milk. The fridge was slammed shut again and he could have a tea exactly how he liked it. How he needed it right at this very moment.

He took his cuppa after pouring in the wanted milk and took a sip of the hot beverage. Only after that did he look at Sherlock again. The detective seemed amused. "Right, the head Sherlock."

"Where else should I put it? It will go bad outside of the fridge and I need it for an ongoing experiment," Sherlock contributed and nodded to himself, his curls bouncing slightly. John slowly nodded, "Okay, I…guess, but I recommend keeping the food away from it. You don't want it to get contaminated."

After that he made his way into the living room again, aware that he walked by Sherlock with more distance than needed (after the awkward hip grabbing he didn't want a repeat) and sat down in his chair, sighing with content. It wasn't that warm in the flat right now but John had a warm cup of tea and the chair would warm up soon to. Another sip and he looked expectantly at Sherlock.

Sherlock followed him and almost jumped onto his chair. Putting his feet on the chair too. John wondered how he could fit into it so well with such long limbs.

Sherlock placed his hands on his knees and grinned. "It's not my first experiment John, I know how to keep the fridge clean."  
"Easy to say since there was almost no food in it. I know what I have in my fridge," John sniffed. He almost wanted to say that Sherlock should also eat more but he didn't want to mother hen Sherlock on a constant basis.

The detective just nodded, "Good for you." It didn't sound demeaning, it only sounded like a statement which was fine with John. "The case, like I said before, there's a serial killer on the loose."

Sherlock waved at the wall with the pictures and notes. "All these people have been killed. Well, at least I know that they have been killed. The police calls them suicides because they all have one thing in common: They took the poison themselves. _But_!," here he looked sternly at John, challenging him to speak up while he gave his little speech.

John kept silent and nodded to get Sherlock to continue talking, "I have checked all their profiles, their histories. Simply put: Everything. And not one of them had a reason to do so. Not even a mild depression. Nothing to suggest that they would commit suicide in the near future. So someone has to give them the poison. Where would these randomly chosen people - and I do mean random because they have absolutely nothing in common - even get the same kind of poison? There has to be some kind of system behind it. I just haven't seen it yet."

When Sherlock finished talking it became silent safe for the quiet breathing noise coming from the detective. John just needed time to process the fast delivered information before he could even form a response.

"Maybe," John started to say, still sounding as if just making up what he wanted to say, "he holds something against them. Threatens them or something but I guess that's probably already crossed your mind." He sounded apologetic for not offering better options and took a sip of his cooling tea.

Sherlock nodded and stared at the wall again, going mentally over the facts again. "There isn't really much we can do as long as the killer doesn't make a mistake." Positioning his hands like a prayer and touching his lips he looked back at John and noticed that the doctor had an odd look on his face. Unable to read what exactly made that face appear he snapped at John. " _What_?!"

John just shook his head with a soft grin. "We? You mean you, right? Because I'm not a genius and don't solve crimes." Though John felt strangely charmed that Sherlock decided to include him in all of this. It certainly was way more interesting than his days.

The detective looked warily at John. While he could have meant himself and the Yard he knew for himself that he had meant John. Despite being high he could see the benefit in talking aloud to John even if he couldn't provide satisfying ideas. It felt like losing weight and thinking even faster (but it could have been the cocaine too), Sherlock liked that thought. Something akin to a companion.

Of course he couldn't just say that. "Don't be dull John you specifically asked to be included. I do mean 'we'," said Sherlock haughtily.

John could only blink and take another sip of his tea. He could imagine himself on Sherlocks side, taking in all these crime scenes. It would probably be nothing like he imagined it right now.

He got startled out of his musings when Sherlock suddenly cocked his head to the window, seeing something that he couldn't. John had the fleeting impression that he had seen colours flash on the windows but when he tried to focus on it nothing was there. "What is it?"

"Lestrade is coming! Something must have happened, maybe the killer finally made a mistake." Sherlock sprang up and walked to the window, seeing the head of Lestrade disappear into the building. He looked back to the doctor when said person hissed.

John stood up too, placing his tea over the fireplace. "Shit. Won't he see that you're high? What about me?!" He felt nervous. This was the first time that someone else would be with them when they saw each other and Sherlock was high as a kite. He would have preferred to be drunk himself in such a situation, at least that wasn't illegal.

Sherlock just lit up like a Christmas tree, beaming at John. "New information for the both of us, it will be great! And don't worry he won't notice, I can pull off the sober role any time," while saying this he pulled at his suit jacket and patted his hair into a desired form.

"Wait, does that mean you don't bother looking sob-," but John stopped midsentence and looked at the door because Sherlock had just greeted Lestrade.

Not that John could greet him too. What he saw was some kind of shadowy form that must have looked like Lestrade, if he had ever met that Detective Inspector. Said bloke also didn't seem to see John since he didn't even react to him standing there in his sleeping clothes and dishevelled hair (people would probably talk if he had been seen like this with Sherlock).

Sitting down still wasn't an option because it would have felt weird, casually sitting down while there was actually a bloke that couldn't see him. Sherlock had his fun though.

He had strategically placed himself by the window by the couch so that Lestrade (or the strange shadow from Johns point of view) had moved between them. Sherlock seemed to jump from Lestrades face to Johns as if in though while listening.

While John couldn't hear a thing from Lestrade he could hear Sherlock as good as ever.

"Well, tell me! Something must be different because you came here by yourself instead of texting." Sherlock demanded and looked serious, not like the christmas tree impression from before.

It was weird hearing the silence between Sherlocks replies. Just like overhearing a phone call, but even weirder. Usually you could make out garbled sounds on the other end but this was complete silence for John, as if Sherlock just spoke into the air and imagined the answers.

John saw Sherlock nod at Lestrade, "Yes but not in the police car. What's the address I'll follow soon." After another few seconds of silence, which meant that Lestrade answered Sherlock, did the shadowy figure move out of the flat and soon after that the might-be-there colours on the windows were gone.

He kept starring at the windows for a little while before he looked at the detective again. "You got called away then? Did he notice anything?" John asked worried.

Sherlock just shook his head and moved over to his coat. "Don't be dull, you were here the whole time, you saw that he didn't question anything. But that doesn't matter now. Put on some clothes and come with me."

When John didn't start to move he looked up from tying his scarf the way he always did. "Well? I imagine you don't want to go out like this?" followed the impatient question.

John just blinked at Sherlock before he signed. "No but I'm not coming with you." He started to massage the space between his eyes for a moment and didn't let Sherlock interrupt him.

"And no I didn't see anything. The only thing I saw was a shadowy kind of figure that could have been Lestrade. And hearing was never an option, whenever he talked there was silence." John swallowed for a moment because he would have loved to come with Sherlock. To see him on The Work as he had called it once.

"Our…our _whatevers_ apparently are too different Sherlock. Wherever you're just about to go might be a lived in place for me with actual people there. And I won't even mention the corpse because I might not see it." He was vaguely aware that he sounded disappointed about the whole thing. He wasn't sure that he cared about that.

For a moment he averted his eyes from Sherlocks piercing eyes (no matter how high he was they looked the same or was he crashing?) and looked at the flipped table. Sherlock had said that both their tables had merged. It was one thing now instead of two. Sadly that didn't mean that they now lived in the same dimension (world?) because if so he should have been able to see Lestrade. Communicate with him.

"So…sorry but I can't," John finally said and looked back at Sherlock who stood ready to run to the crime scene waiting for him. For a second John thought that Sherlock might just do that, without another word.

But Sherlock stayed and slowly nodded while doing the last button on his coat. "Very well, you would have been a great help John, maybe…maybe someday…," even the detective seemed to have a problem with the situation, that they couldn't do anything about it.

Sherlock huffed almost annoyed, trying to get rid of the emotion in the room. "Until next time then." He nodded at John and turned around.

John spoke up before he could make another step. "What about the table?" John almost sounded amused.  
"The table?"  
"Yes. You flipped it. Help me pick it up. Like you said: Our tables merged and that means my stuff was on it too and I need to tidy up in least _my_ stuff."

Sherlock sighed dramatically and went over to the table. Placing himself on the opposite side from where John stood and bent down.

"Having you as a flatmate is so taxing. If I had wanted a flat share I would have looked around myself," Sherlock drawled lazily while both grabbed the table. John almost feared that his hand would go through it because it might just be Sherlocks table now (wouldn't that be awful? To lose his table) but he could grab it just fine and so could Sherlock. Together they turned it around to place it like it usually stood.

John chuckled because of Sherlocks antic now. "That wouldn't have worked out well."  
"Why not?"  
"Because we wouldn't have met. Remember? I'm dead where you are," John grinned and looked at Sherlock. The detective looked lost for a moment before the corner of his mouth formed into a tiny smile.

But he didn't answer John, he merely walked to the door and nodded to him. "Have a nice day John, I really must go now," he said and walked out without waiting for an answer.

Standing there alone now, his hand on the table (the one he _and_ Sherlock had touched, at the _same_ time) he starred at the open door. "Take care," John said into the room before looking down at his hand.

"Having you as a flatmate is very interesting," John mumbled to himself to mirror Sherlocks words from a few minutes ago.

He even dared to smile fondly before he noticed that he really needed to clean up now.

John groaned. "Great."


	5. 6th Meeting

_Sorry for the long wait but me and my beta had to learn for tests and it's not easing up for her (at least it does for me) and I won't upload without her okay :)  
Hope you like this one!_

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It had been three days since John had seen Sherlock and he had to admit to himself that he was curious if the case had already been solved. On the other hand John was glad that Sherlock hadn't felt the need to shoot up again.

He still didn't like that excuse. Not one little bit.

Of course it had crossed his mind once or twice that Sherlock was just a beer or two away but he didn't like that one either. His sister had made sure of that.

Not only that, strange things had been happening these last few days.

The first day after his last meeting with Sherlock John had found a book on the floor that clearly wasn't his. He would never admit out loud how happy that had made him because John had immediately gone through the flat asking Sherlock if he was there again (while dreading the thought of Sherlock being high again).

John had only been confronted with disappointment because the detective hadn't been there even if his book had been. He hadn't even been able to touch it on that day and so he had to let it stay on the ground.

He had even mused over it. What would happen if Sherlock picked it up right then and there? Would he see the book floating around? Or was the book not in Sherlocks collection anymore and solely in his dimension?

Questions only brought up more questions. At least they filled his hours in between work and going to bed (the time flew by when he started to stare at the book and think about Sherlock).

On the second day John had only tried again to pick it up after Mrs. Hudson had shown up to give him some leftovers of hers and complained that she would have tripped over it if she hadn't seen it in time. Since he didn't want his landlady complaining about a book, _the_ book (she had seen it, what did that mean?!), he had stood up and stared at it again.

"Really, I'm staring at a book because of you..." John had mused to himself and bend down to touch it. To his surprise he could not only touch it but pick it up too. It has been resting on his bedside table ever since.

The second thing that had happened was more embarrassing than a book.

His _socks_ were gone.

After John had showered in the morning he had wanted to get some socks, and had to discover that none of the socks in his drawer were his. They were even weirdly sorted (Was there a system? John couldn't tell).

He probably had mused over this for a good five minutes before he figured that there was nothing to be done about that and grabbed some black socks that Sherlock probably didn't mind him wearing. He really hoped so, because the chance that he was getting out of the flat to get himself a new pair of socks was slim.

But he had do draw the line when he looked for his underpants.

Fate was kind to him and had only switched _some_ of his underpants and boxers with Sherlocks. John still had a few of his and he was glad for that. He wasn't even sure if he could come up with a reasonable excuse to wear Sherlocks underpants (not that he wanted to).

And that's how he found himself three days after his last meeting with the detective. Wearing socks that weren't his and boxers that were (thankfully) still his and Sherlocks book in front of the fire place. The sun had already gone down and John had turned on the lamp on the table behind him.

There was just enough light to read, though he hadn't read much of it. John randomly flipped the pages and kept scrutinizing the book.

He followed his favourite past time and contemplated about it and Sherlock. Was it one of his treasured books? Did he even possess a book that he treasured? It looked used and not new but Sherlock could have gotten it from someone else just the same.

John even had smelled it for a few seconds, trying to deduce (he would have never used that word if he hadn't met Sherlock) if it smelled like the detective. It just smelled like paper.

Judging by the state of their flat, _Sherlocks_ flat, it could be happenstance that it had laid there. Thrown around in a fit of boredom or while searching for another book.

John groaned to himself, letting the book fall into his lap and putting his face in his hand. This stupid book only brought out more questions. Questions he wouldn't get answers too.

He probably just missed Sherlock.

"Brilliant," John sarcastically mumbled to himself. Was he obsessed with the other? Mad about a hallucination that he convinced himself to belie-

"What is brilliant?" came the deep familiar drawl of Sherlocks voice from behind. _Directly_ behind him.

John immediately looked up and stretched his neck to look over his shoulder. What met him was the expanse of a purple shirt with straining buttons. He blinked at them for a moment, musing if Sherlocks shirts had always been so tight, before his gaze slowly wandered to the others face.

The detective seemed to loom over him, his dark curls falling into his face as he looked down on John. He still looked handsome but at the same time Sherlock seemed tired, almost haggard. John frowned.

"Are you alright? Did you even eat these last three days?" Sherlock blinked when John asked his questions, almost as if he hadn't understood them.

"Sherlock, have you-"  
"What is so brilliant that has you thinking so loud John?" They both stared at each other, the silence stretching out, only disturbed by the crackling fire.

John decided to stand up (because of his neck) and the book in his lap fell to the floor. Both looked down at it before John bent down and retrieved it. "This book is. It's yours but appeared two days ago in the flat. Well, the flat in my…world," he explained and held it out for Sherlock to take.

The movement seemed normal, something that happened all the time between the two but the truth was that John felt nervous.

And Sherlock didn't make a move. He briefly looked down at the book before staring at John again. "You can keep it."

John must have looked dumbfounded. "What? It's yours, I mean, it hasn't even left the flat, I can place it on the table or something. I found it on the floor," John felt snubbed. What he really wanted to know was if Sherlock _could_ touch it, while he held onto it. Like the table a few days ago.

He wanted to know if he could touch Sherlock when both touched the book. That should be possible. Right? When both would touch the book then that meant it was solid for both of them and while they would stay in contact with it they should be able to touch.

At least for John that sounded like logic.

"Look Sherlock..I-" but he was once again cut off by the other.  
"I don't think it will work John. Don't place your hope on this book. Let me demonstrate."

Just like that Sherlock grabbed the book on the other side of it and pulled slightly on it. Probably to show that both had it in their grasp now. When that was done he stared into Johns eyes before looking down on the doctors' hand. He placed his own hand flat on the cover letting John carry its weight and moved forward.

John could feel the pressure on the book while Sherlock stayed in contact with it. The way it dipped to the side when Sherlock strayed a little of his fingertip reached Johns.

For a moment he held his breath, expecting the others fingers to push against his own. John could almost imagine it, could feel it happening and then…and then started the tingling sensation and Sherlocks hand moved through his own where he stopped it. Both hands were for a moment, accompanied by the tingling sensation.

Johns breath left him, defeated, and he looked up to Sherlock. "How could you've been so sure?"

The detective still hadn't removed his hand and blinked at John. "I thought about it. While things seem to appear or merge we both seem to be the only thing that doesn't change. I believe it would've been the same with the table," Sherlock explained, almost bored, but everything John had really registered was that Sherlock had thought about this too.

He had spent his massive intellect to try and figure this out too. (Did he want to touch John too or simply solve this mystery?)

John startled out of his musings when Sherlock finally let go and turned to the couch, flopping down on it. "Just keep the book."  
"Alright," John replied, looking down on his hand with the book. If he would close his eyes he could probably still feel the tingling that was Sherlocks hand.

Shaking his head to clear it he moved to the table and placed the book on it before looking at Sherlock. "Did you solve the case? You said you only shoot up morphine if you don't have a case."

John frowned while Sherlock laid his head on the arm rest, only to look at the doctor and raise an eyebrow. "You remember that?"

"Of course I do," he snorted before clearing his throat. "So, what about the case?" John felt as if he always had to ask more than once to get answers. Sherlock obliged after two or three times but why did he have to make it so bloody difficult.

Sherlock placed his hands in a prayer position under his chin while John moved over to the couch table (it had been moved a bit away from the couch) and sat down on it facing the other, minding the almost empty tea cup standing on the edge of it.

"Mhhh…yes. I solved it the same day. Quite easy in the end."After that there was silence and it became clear that Sherlock didn't intent to give what John wanted to know. He really wanted to.

"Sherlock," he simply said in an almost strained tone. The detective seemed to ignore him but John wasn't about to give up. "Sherlock, w-"

"What John, what's so important that.. oh you want to know the rest of the case." Sherlock only deduced the last part when he finally looked at John. A smile graced his lips and even if it was a bit loopy it still was handsome.

John sighed and nodded. "Yes, I really want to know who did it, how you solved it," he admitted, though it had to be written right across his face if Sherlock had seen it that clearly.

The detective didn't move besides laying his hands on his stomach and looking at the ceiling. Maybe he looked at his memories, John didn't know what Sherlock saw when he was high.

"It was a cabbie. He made them all commit suicide by talking to them. They were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. Random people, like all the evidence had suggested."  
"And why did he do it? What was his motive?"

Sherlock blinked before he answered, his head moving to look at John. "He was dying of an aneurism and had a sponsor. Someone actually paid him for killing these people. And then there's my fan: Moriaty."

"Who's Moriaty?"  
"I don't know but he does sound interesting, does he not? He must be something. Who else would pay someone else to kill random people?" Sherlock mused to himself with a secret smile.

John himself felt something akin to jealousy (no he wasn't jealous, _of course not_ ). Sherlock didn't even know this guy. It probably was just the mystery behind that Moriaty, just like it was with him. A mystery Sherlock probably wouldn't be able to solve and that made it interesting.

He needed to shake of that feeling. They barely had seen each other so far and he already felt himself growing jealous of a guy Sherlock only knew by name. As if John had any rights to be. A change of topic is what he needed right now.

"And how did he…how did he convince these people to take the poison?," he asked in a what he hoped curious tone and letting the other feeling go.

Sherlock stared at him now, though John wasn't sure what he saw right then, and didn't answer for a minute. John even became slightly worried for the other. Was he even there with him?

Just when John though that he might make himself some tea did Sherlock speak up again. "He took them with him and sat down with them. There he presented them with two small bottles, each one had a pill in it. They looked identical. And he gave them a choice. The victim should pick one and the cabbie would take the other one and both would swallow their pill." The detective briefly explained but John got the picture, he could practically see them before him, sitting there. Sherlock spoke as if he had experienced it himself. Odd. Sherlock continued.

"Of course he had a backup plan if one of the victims didn't want to who would have done that on their own free will anyway," Sherlock snorted loudly. "The cabbie pointed a gun at them. Either the 50/50 chance with the pills or a bullet to the brain…A pity those people hadn't realized that the gun was a lighter. Nothing more, nothing less."

John sat there in awe, staring at Sherlock at processing everything. "That was brilliant! How did you deduce all that?!"

Sherlock graced John with a strange smile, as if he needed to consider what he wanted to say next. "The cabbie took me with him and we had a little chat. He told me everything while I deduced him." Sherlock grinned at this and John wondered what exactly he had seen about that guy that was so funny. "He didn't really like that but I suppose no one does. Except…," here the detective looked at John again but did not finish his sentence. John felt that he knew what Sherlock meant anyway. He chose not to react to it.

"So..wait, he took you with him. I got that alright. But why? Did he want to convince you to make such a choice too? You talked about the lighter as if he had pointed it at you," John stated with an uneasy feeling in the bit of his stomach.

At least Sherlock hadn't been in danger. He had recognized the lighter for what it was and he surely wouldn't take up such a game. Right? Or maybe he would?

Maybe Sherlock had been so stupid and simply won the game.

The detectives grin didn't falter, it was strange seeing it this constantly but Sherlock probably didn't realize it. "Oh, we played the game alright." His voice turned more gravely than it was anyway making a shiver run down Johns spine. Something sounded off about that.

Sherlock continued. "We talked, exchanged words and then he presented me with a choice: The good pill or the bad pill. Of course I wouldn't choose, I was above that. I'm above everything," he said haughtily and would have almost looked down his nose if he had been in a higher position than John.

 _"_ _Right you are, git"_ John softly mumbled but Sherlock ignored him for the sake of continuing.

"Just before I left, leaving him to the approaching authorities, did he turn the tables. He presented me with something…not refuseable. The Work, the Game, the end of it all. A conclusion, a-"  
"Sherlock, the point? What did he _do_?" John pressed, he got the idea.

"The thrill of everything. Did I choose the right pill? Because of course I chose in the end, how could I not, my addictive nature wouldn't allow it. Of course I have been right and yet…"

John wanted to move closer, the suspense had him on his toes and Sherlock kept stalling. He didn't take the pill, John was sure of it. He wanted to be sure of it.

Just when John wanted to ask again, stupidly repeating what Sherlock said to get him to talk but Sherlock did so on his own. Though not with words.

The curly haired man put his right hand into his trouser pocket (had he worn them the whole time? John had been concentrating on the straining buttons and hadn't looked further down) instead of answering and held something into the air.

John failed for a moment to focus on him, still wondering about Sherlocks attire before the soft rattling of something snapped his attention back.

In Sherlocks hand was a small bottle with a single pill in it.

There was a heavy silence after that, both staring at the bottle (John would have loved to study Sherlocks hand but the truth of what he held was terrifying him). John opened his mouth but Sherlock beat him to it, as if reading his mind.

"No, I didn't swallow it, yes, I kept it." His head turned slowly toward Johns direction again, the grin gone. A stern one had replaced it.

John tried to start again but it seemed that Sherlock wanted to do Johns part too. "B-"  
" _But why did I keep it?_ Why John, I would have thought you wouldn't asked such obvious questions." Sherlock scoffed, his 'happy' mood completely gone from before.

"I need to know if I had been right. The police would have taking it with them, evidence for something that has already been solved. So I kept it."  
"And why haven't you tested it yet? You said you solved it on the same day. If you wanted to know so badly than you would have already done so. No, you kept it and now you showing it to me….you…you don't plan to take it, right?" John felt a flicker of panic rising in his chest.

Did Sherlock want to play the game so badly that he wanted to take the goddamn pill?! It could cost him is life. "Just test it," the doctor demanded.

It became silent again, both fuming with their own kind of excitement. John figured he must be right, Sherlock hadn't opposed to it.

John wouldn't watch this. "Give me the pill."

Sherlocks eyes snapped to John, boring into him, almost taking him apart if they hadn't been dulled by the drug. " _What?_ "

"Give Me The _FuckingPill_ ," John used his military tone, pushing his chest out and straightening his back. He didn't stand up, yet.

Sherlocks eyes turned to slits, trying to threaten John with promises he was pretty sure Sherlock couldn't keep. "You don't know if I wanted to take it. I can easily test the contents of it in the kitchen."

"But you haven't done that yet Sherlock. You've had two days, very long days considering your sleeping habits – don't give me that look, I notice things too – and you still haven't done it. You're high as a kite and lying there with a probably deadly pill in your hand and staring at it. What is wrong?!" John had raised his voice towards the end and he could feel the need to stand up from the couch table. He pushed it down.

Sherlock seemed knew what kind of thoughts were spinning in his head, no matter how sluggish they were for his standards.

He sat up with an energy John hadn't often seen while they had been seeing (meeting) each other, crossing his legs and opening the bottle in a demonstrative way. Only then did he look back at John, challenging him. His nostrils were flaring (the sudden movement?) and his pupils blown wide (wider than before?).

John clenched his teeth, his jaw line moving visibly. He stared right back but didn't stand up, feeling as if he was watching a caged animal. How did this turn over so fast?Weren't they just discussing the case a few seconds ago?

The worst part for John was that he couldn't stop Sherlock anyway. No matter how much he wanted to grab his shoulders and ask 'W _hat the fuck is wrong with you?!'_.

"Sherlock-" John started again, still clenching his teeth which made the others name come out as a hiss.  
" _John_ ," Sherlock mocked him. " _This_ is what I'm living for." He held up the pill for both to see, in front of his face.

"The thrill that keeps me going. What purpose is there if I gain nothing from it? Did I choose right? I believe in this, I know this but I will only know for sure if I try it. This is not the same as testing the contents. It's not even comparable." Sherlock kept John from speaking up with a stern, disapproving look.

"This is everything. _There is nothing else_." Sherlock seemed out of breath but it was probably just the anger. John just wasn't sure to whom it was directed. Sherlock just sounded frustrated to John.

And John wanted to say ' _Yes there is._ ' Wasn't their mystery enough to just throw this stupid pill away? The mystery was there. John was there.

"If you are wrong, what…what would your friends say?" John said, trying to find a suitable thing to calm Sherlock down. "Give me the pill, please." He stretched his hand out without thinking about it.

If anything Sherlock scoffed just more. "I don't have friends. I have people that need me because of my deduction skills."  
"I don't." John replied immediately which made Sherlock look up from Johns outstretched hand again.

"What?!"

"I mean I don't need your deduction skills. I mean, yeah, they are brilliant and amazing but I don't need them. I would just miss _you._ " And if that wasn't one of the most difficult things to say for John. This emotional stuff wasn't his strong suit and he knew that it wasn't' Sherlocks either.

Still, the situation needed to be resolved.

Both stared at each other, neither saying a thing for what felt hours to John. He couldn't say more, John felt as if he would burst if he uttered another word like this to Sherlock and that just couldn't happen.

He needed to wait for Sherlocks next move.

Slowly Sherlocks gaze wandered from Johns face to his still outstretched hand, then to the pill in his own hands. The hand was shaking slightly. Sherlock hadn't noticed, he even though that he had lost all feeling in this hand. He was probably hallucinating.

Sherlocks deep voice sounded quiet and still filled up the room. "I…What do you expect me to do. I can't give it to you." The detective didn't look away from the pill and John stared at his own hand.

Right. Stupid of him to demand the pill.

Dropping his hand in defeat he lowered his gaze to the floor and noticed the cup still standing at the edge of the table. Musing over the idea for a moment he made a grab for it, hoping that he could take it.

Surprisingly, it worked. There had been no indication that Sherlocks cub would be available to him but he had taken his chances. Now he could use the same principle like Sherlock had done with the book. He wouldn't take it with just the pill.

John held out his hand again, this time with the cup.

"Yes you can, please give me the pill," he pleaded again with a softer voice, the military tone gone again and only a tense edge remaining to it.

Sherlock finally looked at John again, studying the cup in the doctors hand before one corner of his mouth twitched, almost as if he wanted to smile.

Slowly he stretched his arm out too and hovered with his hand over the cup, dramatically high. There was still thick air between them, both judging if the other would say something.

Sherlock let the pill fall when nothing came and the clang of the pill landing inside the cub seemed to shatter the silence in the whole flat. The tiniest smile appearing on Sherlock, John would have missed it if he hadn't seen the twitch before.

"Very clever John, very." Sherlock replied, sounding defeated but keeping up the smile. John hoped that he wasn't just seeing a mask, that Sherlock might be a bit relieved too that the decision wasn't in his hand anymore.

John just nodded back and looked into the cup before he turned it over and let the pill fall into his hand. "Thank you," of course he meant the pill and not the compliment but he didn't say that out loud.

The detective simply let himself fall back again, any strength apparently gone. He looked deflated. Tired. Obviously nothing would come from his side anymore.

Sitting there with a pill in his hands John thought of easing the tension that still lingered. Might as well ask another question, just to get his mind of this whole thing. He could think about it later too.

"So, I was…I was wondering if I could write the case down and post it on my blog…," he said into the room, not exactly framing it was a question while putting the pill into his own pocket. He would throw it away later.

At first there was no movement but he could see Sherlock staring at the ceiling and then at him. "What? Why would you want to do that?" Sherlock frowned at him.

"Why not? Like I said your deductions are amazing and easy to follow afterwards. And I have a blog." There, a simple thing he wanted to do, just because he still had that stupid blog from a while ago when his psychiatrist had wanted him to create one. Might as well use it for something interesting.

The other made a dismissive gesture with his hand and nodded. "Do as you like. I don't exist anymore in your dimension, there's no harm I guess…" Sherlock sounded as if his thoughts were wandering away but he still looked at John.

"You know what? Why not change my name, my first name. It is kind of unique don't you think. Some people might find it strange to read it." Sherlock had a tiny grin on his face, very different from the one before. This one seemed more honest even if a bit mischievous.

John grew wary of this idea but it was still Sherlocks story and life, not his. "Sure," he said slowly, turning the thought over in his head. "What do you have in mind?"  
"William." The grin grew bolder. "A pretty normal name, it should do the trick."

Sherlock repeated the dismissive gesture and placed his arm over his eyes, clearly ending the conversation.

"William," John repeated to himself not expecting an answer from Sherlock. He still stared at the dark haired detective but shrugged. "Alright."

John stood up and straightened his back, easing the tension in his muscles from the alerted state his body had been in. He headed towards the kitchen.

"Do you want tea?" John dared to ask. It would be logical that it would work now. He simply needed to place the cub somewhere and Sherlock could take it.

What followed him into the kitchen was a grunt and a mumbled thing that might have been a no. Sherlocks loss then.

John prepared himself a cup of tea and sat down in his chair (after turning it towards the window again), this time with his laptop. He might as well get started on the blog post. At the same time he could watch Sherlock falling asleep on the couch.

A while later at some point he just stopped typing and stared at Sherlock, taking everything in and trying to keep the image.

John fell asleep like this, his tea gone cold.


	6. Outside Meeting

_Sorry for the long wait. My beta is really busy with school at the moment so it takes a little while but rest assured this WILL be finished :)_

* * *

John hadn't been aware that _this_ was a possibility and that it would _actually_ happen, even if he had known about it. Still here he was in the middle of a sidewalk near St. Barts with Sherlock crossing his way.

If he hadn't known any better he would have believed that this would be the Sherlock from his dimension.

"Sherlock?!" John moved towards the taller man, who only seemed to notice him now, with a disbelieving expression on his face.

"Sherlock!" he hissed through his teeth again. "What are you doing out of the flat, _high_?!" he pressed, trying to keep his voice low and not stare at Sherlock too much (which was hard). Other people wouldn't be able to see Sherlock and he would look crazy talking with thin air.

Sherlock just stared right at John, obviously not caring what others thought about him. Slowly a little pleased smile formed on his lips. "Why, John, to meet you here! Walk with me?" he just asked and started to walk again. The detective seemed to have a destination in mind.

Irritated, yet deep down pleased and happy to see Sherlock again, he followed the other, looking stiffly ahead. "Where are we going? No, I mean what are you doing? You should rest. Are you on a case? No, this doesn't look like cocaine. You would be all over the place." John huffed out displeased about the fact that Sherlock was high. Again.

Meanwhile Sherlock was very charmed with the fact that John even remembered his drug habits. How many people could claim to do that?

Something like a warm feeling spread in his chest but he wrote it off due to the drug.

John felt ignored by the thoughtful look Sherlock got on his face while walking and his first instinct would have been to softly grab the sleeve of Sherlocks coat to get his attention. The only thing stopping him was that it just wouldn't work and so he refrained, falling back to just saying his name.

"Sherlock.."  
"Yes John I heard you. I have a case. An old…acquaintance contacted me for help and I'm on my way there. You might as well tag along." Sherlock drawled out, looking at John from the corner of his eye. He saw John frown and immediately added "You don't have to, if you don't want to of course."

The detectives gaze wandered ahead again. He didn't want to face the rejection.

John on the other hand felt honoured to tag along but still frowned. "I..I would really like to but you surely can remember that I can't see your people and you can't see mine. I would look out of place there, maybe even threatening if I keep talking to myself."

Suddenly he got an idea and fumbled in his pockets, searching for something. It drew Sherlocks attention back to him. "What are you doing now?"

Sherlock slowed down a little when he saw that John had taken his phone out and pressed it to his ear as if he would call someone. "You forgot to dial," Sherlock dryly provided, regaining his previous speed. Why would John start talking to someone else now when _he_ was there? He didn't like that.

All the while John grinned self-appreciative to himself. "Now I can talk with you and just look as if I'm on the phone."

Still proud of his brilliant idea he looked at Sherlock, surely the other would take out his phone any second now too. So they both won't look dumb and-  
"You look stupid, to me," Sherlock added while he looked at John. The idea wasn't really bad but the detective was someone who generally didn't care what people thought about him, especially with a drug in his systems. He sometimes ran around with a skull for heavens sake. John shouldn't feel so self-conscious.

The grin on Johns face fell into an annoyed look. "Yeah well," he licked his lips while contemplating a comeback and promptly found one. "You aren't as funny as you think, so there."

The taller man could only blink for a minute, actually fearing that he had taken too much morphine because surely that didn't make any sense to him right now. "…What?" he asked genuinely confused.

John sighed exasperated. "Meeting your brother wasn't nearly as fun as I thought. He really didn't appreciate that I used your name on my blog. _William_."

Silence followed that statement while Sherlock ceased to walk and stood still. After a few seconds of not talking a slow and deep chuckle came from Sherlock, he seemed honestly amused by all this.

" _Oh_. Did Mycroft kidnap you? I really wanted to know if he would get it," Sherlock asked amused and waited eagerly for an answer. Mycroft was predictable, even if he was another version in a different world.

"Yes. He kidnapped me _hours_ after I posted it. He didn't find it very funny Sherlock, really not. He started to ask questions how I came to know your name because he was certain that, and I quote, _'Sherlock didn't have friends'_.Can you believe that?" John huffed out, looking annoyed ahead.

Sherlock needed to know how it went on, he wanted to move closer to John and grab his shoulders to tell him to _go on_. Please _go on_.

"And? What did you say?!"  
John started to grin secretly at Sherlock and mirth twinkled in his eyes. "I laughed at him. He didn't appreciate that either," John replied dryly with his grin, also amused by this since Sherlock really seemed to find that funny.

Sherlock let out a startling laugh before he honestly laughed to himself, picturing his brother. Mycroft must have been ready to do something rash if he was right about John. The doctor seemed to bloom in the face of danger.

"He…," and Sherlock actually had to gather himself before he could talk again (he probably would've laughed a bit less if he hadn't had drugs in his system), "He will have a closer eye on you now. Every post on your blog will be judged I believe."

Johns grin didn't falter but he looked a bit more sternly at Sherlock. "Yes, but for now I only have one case of yours anyway. And for the record: It really wasn't funny," he pressed again.

"Oh, but it was John, you loved it." Sherlock drawled in a deep voice that made Johns back shiver.

Both stared at each other.

John cleared his throat before it got any more intense than it already was. "We..we should probably get going since you have an appointment." He started to move and walk by Sherlock (even if he didn't know where they were going) but Sherlock made a grab for his hand. Nothing hasty, just a slow soft move to grab Johns hand.

Of course it moved right through it and John stopped again, both starring at their hands. Confused John looked up again.

Sherlock just shrugged with his shoulders, his curls bouncing slightly. "I just wanted to see if it's still the same," and started to walk ahead again. "Come now, I have an appointment."

John hold out his hand in front of him before shaking it a few times, placing his phone in it (the other was getting tired) and followed after the detective. Catching up with the detective he risked a side glance at him. "So, where are we going exactly? I can wait at the front if you want. Or…something."

"My acquaintance works for a financial institution and wants me to look at something." Sherlock scoffed into his scarf as if it was tedious to recall all that. "I know him from university," he explained some more for John who blinked at him.

"You keep saying acquaintance. He suddenly remembered you? Just like that?"  
"Of course he did. Back then everyone knew of my observation skills and asked me to use them on 'cases'."

John scrunched his eyebrows together in a mild frown and didn't say anything. When nothing came from his side Sherlock looked over at him and blinked confused. "What?"

"Nothing, it's…no nothing." John shook his head slightly and marched on besides Sherlock. He stayed slightly behind the detective since he didn't know where the building was they were heading to. From time to time John would see a pedestrian walking towards him and then right through Sherlock.

It was strange and confusing to see this, especially since Sherlock didn't react to it at all. He wondered if Sherlock saw those people as some kind of wobbly shade like he had seen DI Lestrade.

Since Sherlock had let his comment drop (for some strange reason) John felt compelled to press another matter. One Sherlock had successfully evaded thanks to distracting him.

"Why did you take drugs again? While on a case no less. I already…deduced that it isn't cocaine;" he frowned again but this time directly at Sherlock. The other just smirked slightly and glanced at John while crossing a street.

John didn't get an answer immediately because he had to stay behind and wait for a car to pass before he could catch up again. "So?"  
"So what? What do you want me to say John? That I took them before I had the case? That I took them for personal reasons while on the case? Please, feel free to choose one of these options," Sherlock drawled, clearly not bothered by Johns insistence (John chalked it up to the drugs).

"I want to hear the truth. If something is going on you can tell me. Okay? I mean, sure the whole…drugs and alcohol thing works against us but while we're here you can actually talk to me. I'll listen Sherlock." John sounded genuine and tried to get his point into the thick skull of the detective.

Sherlock actually stopped and turned to John, looking directly at him.

Of course John reciprocated the look (Sherlocks pupils where blown wide) and waited for an answer or the problem itself. He only got "Okay," instead. He was confused.

"Okay?"  
"We're here. You can wait here or sit down on one of these benches over there." Sherlock made a flabby hand gesture away from the building that towered above them while he turned away.

Since John couldn't grab his arm (he really wanted to now) he let himself be left behind, watching after the detective until he couldn't see him anymore.

Resigned he turned away, put his phone into his pocket and walked over to ' _one of these benches over there_ ' and sat down, facing the building. He didn't even know how long that appointment was supposed to last but he would wait it out. John was just thankful that he didn't have a late shift today at St. Barts. Knowing that Sherlock roamed the city while he was high and meeting him meant that he couldn't possibly leave him now.

He just wondered how far he would go for the detective. It wasn't even possible to grab his goddamn hand.

"Damn," John mumbled to himself, moving his hand through his hair.

Sitting there for a few minutes and tapping his fingers against his knee he stood up. "I might as well get a coffee while I wait." John looked around for a suitable shop and quickly found one.

After 26 minutes had passed John still sat there on the bench and his coffee was almost gone. He started to feel boredom creeping up on him while he still felt nervous that Sherlock was in there alone for so long.

Which was completely unjustified since Sherlock was always alone somewhere else except for the few instances they met and that had always been in their flat.

At least he had a little distraction at hand: the shadowy form of other people. While he still saw the people of his world walking around, he also saw a fog like shadow from time to time. Not always and probably nowhere near to the amount of people who actually walked across his field of view. They were still enough to hold his attention for the time they were there. The only times his eyes turned away from them before they left was when the door of the building opened. John always expected to see Sherlock (that became exhausting after the first five times) but it never was him and so he went back to watching the shades.

Emptying his coffee he stood up and threw the cup away. Yielding to his fate to wait out there a while longer he stretched his entire body before sitting down on the bench again.

"That was actually interesting in there." came a deep, familiar voice beside him and John almost jumped up and made a noise. He didn't. He clamped the feeling down and looked to his side where Sherlock was sitting as if he had been doing that the whole time.

"I should probably already feel used to that. You could have announced you're back, you know?" John huffed out and relaxed again after the sudden fright.

Sherlock just grinned at John and shook his head. "Wouldn't be as funny as seeing your reaction every time." Both stared at each other after that and kept silent.

Sherlock looked the same as before. Noting no difference whatsoever after looking Sherlock over (most definitely _not_ checking him out) he became curious. "So? Tell me. What did he want from you?"

Sherlock looked ahead and up the tall building while he talked. "Seb wanted me to look at a security problem. Apparently someone had broken in and left a message. Nothing has been taken." Sherlock took out his phone and brought up a photo that showed a strange symbol. He slightly leaned over to show it to John.

"That's the message left behind. Do you know what it means?"

John studied the symbol. It wasn't very big or detailed, just a few strokes, before he shook his head. "Sorry no, what does it mean?"  
"I have no idea so far but the culprit _climbed_ up the building to enter it. So not really a security issue per sé." The doctor looked at Sherlock as if he had a second head.

"Climbed? What?" Immediately looking up the building John thought about climbing up there and shook his head. "You can't be serious?"

Sherlock just put his phone away again. "Oh, but I am. They climbed up there of that I am certain. Everything else I still need to look into," he mused at himself towards the end, probably already trying to solve the puzzle while a certain weariness worked itself into his voice.

John sat awkwardly beside him, trying to be quiet while another question popped up in his head. "You know," he started to gain Sherlocks attention. It actually took a few seconds before he received it and he could go on. "What you actually should do is go home and lie down until the drug has passed through your system. Did the reason for taking them even justify?"

The heavy silence continued and it seemed that nothing would come from Sherlock who just stared ahead at the building again, his hands clasp together on his legs. John mimicked the pose and decided to wait this one out. Either Sherlock would answer him or he would change the subject. Something would give in eventually.

From the corner of his eye John could see Sherlock opening and closing his mouth as if he wanted to start talking but refrained from doing so. This went on for at least a minute before the detective cleared his throat and talked with a raspy voice, oddly calm (he had been calm before but now it seemed strange).

"Would you…walk me home John? I don't believe you have any plans I would ruin." he asked. The remark hadn't been necessary since John really didn't have any plans and even if he had, he would have cancelled them immediately. "Of course Sherlock, let's head back alright. I just fear we will have to walk or try to catch the same tube." Which frankly just sounded insane.

Would the tubes be one thing in both of their worlds or would they drive separately. Just because of this he didn't even suggest a cab. God knows what would come from that. That just made his head hurt and the simplest resolution was walking, even if he didn't want Sherlock walking around so much in this state.

John got pulled from his musings when Sherlock stood up, almost stumbled, then catched himself and looked at John. "We will go. The fresh air will do some good," he explained as a matter of fact which John accepted with a shrug and stood up too.

Not waiting for Sherlock to start walking he turned and did that himself, letting the detective slightly catch up to him before he matched his speed with the taller man.

They were covered in silence again, safe for Sherlocks bigger intake of air. John looked at him worryingly and opened his mouth to talk when Sherlock beat him to it.

"Seb wasn't very…I think you would call it _nice_ ," Sherlock attempted to sneer the word nice but it came out in a dimished way. As if he couldn't muster the strength to dislike the word. "He kept reminding me of my time in university. No one liked me then either."

While John starred at the sidewalk in front of him, he could feel Sherlocks eyes on him. John had the distinct feeling that Sherlock wouldn't share this with him under normal circumstances. The one thing that stood out of it all was the ' _No one liked me then either_ '.

John continued is walk and stare when he answered. "That's not true. I like you." They had kind of covered that the last time too when he wanted Sherlock to give him the pill (he had destroyed it a day later so Sherlock wouldn't find it if the dimensions tried to switch more stuff) and he had thought that it had been clear that he wasn't alone.

If only they could just meet like normal people.

After his declaration John spoke on. "Whatever … _Seb_ …said, just ignore it. Maybe it's the past or maybe you just don't give yourself enough credit, I can't judge that. But I met you and you are…a great person to know Sherlock," and that wasn't as easy to admit as it sounded. "So fuck _Seb_ and finish the case, later of course, and you don't have to meet him again."

Only then did he look at the detective beside him and their eyes met. It looked as if Sherlocks eyes were watery, not unlike unshed tears, but he wouldn't call the other out on it. He looked gratefully at John and slowly nodded before he tore his gaze away and walked where they were going.

John too looked ahead again and walked beside the taller man.

Somehow they didn't find another, lighter, topic to talk about while they made their way home and so remained in a somewhat comfortable silence. Until Sherlock stopped and placed one hand on the wall beside him to support himself.

He took in bigger gulps of air as if he had run a marathon and looked tired. John immediately was at his side (he really wanted to help him support his weight _but couldn't_ ) and looked at Sherlock closely.

A few minutes ago he hadn't looked _this_ sweaty and tired, simply relaxed and more open then he probably felt like. "Sherlock? What's happening, do you have trouble breathing!? Follow my lead," John offered and started to breath calm and controlled to make an example.

At first Sherlock didn't seem to have heard him at all until his breathing synchronized with Johns and he didn't look as panicked as he had started to become. If John would have given his surrounding any thoughts he would have noticed how strange he looked, breathing at a wall with nothing there.

He tried to guide the other on, wanting him back at the flat. "Come, we're almost there, just breath like me and stay close to the wall. You can do it." Meanwhile his mind raced with thoughts on how much Sherlock had taken. Had it been an overdose? If Sherlock had said the truth about him taking the drug just to calm his nerves (because of _Seb_? He hadn't ever said so directly), then he shouldn't have this reaction. _How much had he taken_?

"Just around the corner Sherlock, then we're there." John tried to sound positive but he sounded distressed and detached, he felt like going into battle modus which made his back straighten (he couldn't even drag Sherlock if it came down to that).

Still, somehow they made it around the corner and down the street, people giving him strange looks but he ignored them all. John even saw one shadowy figure stop beside Sherlock and bent a little down.

They probably asked him if he was alright if he read Sherlocks go-away-gesture correct.

Together they made it to the door of 221 Baker Street. John immediately went up to the door and opened it, hoping that this meant that the door would also be open for Sherlock.

He was right.

 _At least something that works like I want to_ , thought John and placed himself at the end of the stairs. "Can you make it upstairs?" Sherlock just nodded at him and proceeded to make the climb while John stayed at the bottom and watched him.

"I'll be right behind you," he assured the other (or hoped that he was assuring, he _couldn't even catch_ him) and watched him warily, ready to declare a break if one was needed.

Before he could even take his first step the door to his landladies flat opened and she appeared in it, "Hoohoo John, I heard you talking to someone, do we have a guest? I could give you some bakery," she smiled at him, maybe hoping that he wouldn't be alone as always.

John just shook his head and tried to smile nicely at her (it probably was a grimace). "No thank you Mrs. Hudson, I'll be upstairs. It was a hard day and I just want some peace and quiet." That usually got her away for a few hours. He really liked her but she would just think him crazy after a few minutes in his presence while Sherlock was there and he couldn't really need that right now.

"Have a nice evening." He waved at her hastily and ran up the stairs where Sherlock had already made it there and had thrown himself on the couch.

John immediately threw his jacket of (he had aimed for its place but it landed on the floor) while he walked over to Sherlock, watching him closely. "How are you feeling? No lying."

Sherlock just lied there bundled in his coat taking great heaps of air in and exhaling them. The detective seemed to be somewhere else before his eyes finally found Johns. "I know…I know I can breathe but my chest feels strangely tight. I'm cold too, is it cold in here John?" Sherlock asked honestly confused which made Johns chest ache. It wasn't cold at all in here, Mrs. Hudson had seen to that and he was pretty sure that it was the same for Sherlock.

"Just…just try to level your breathing with my own again Sherlock. I'll get you a blanket," a fever his mind offered at Sherlocks sweaty curls sticking to his head while he retrieved the blanked over the back of the couch and let it fall over Sherlock. "I can't take your temperature but I'm very sure you have a fever, you should drink water Sherlock."

With that he stood up and swiftly went to the kitchen. He thought for a second that he had heard something coming from Sherlock. He tried to be as fast as possible and came back with a glass of water placing it in front of the couch.

"Sherlock? Can you lift the glass? Just take sips," the doctor urged and pointed at the glass when Sherlock looked at him again. The other just huffed and closed his eyes.

John immediately tried to grab Sherlock by the shoulders and shake him but his hands just moved through him. He could barely contain his anger and frustration at the situation.

He tried again but hovered with his hands on the edge of the detectives' shoulders, feeling a slight tingling sensation in his nerve endings. "Sherlock, look at me please, you have to drink a little bit and stay awake. Can you do that? Sherlock?" John wanted to shake him so bad, to rouse him, but he could see Sherlock slipping under the effects of the drug.

Somehow Sherlocks eyes opened to tiny slits and starred at John. "'m tired John. St'y." His speech was mumbled and deep, barely comprehensible but John understood what he wanted.

"Of course I'll stay. Just stay with me too, alright?" he asked back and took his hands away, placing his right one so that it lay besides Sherlocks. He had the distinct feeling that he could feel the heat of the other thrown back at him.

John didn't remember feeling that before.

But he couldn't think about that now, he had a patient to look over, no matter how untouchable.

Of course Sherlock didn't comply with his demand and slipped into a sleep that felt unnatural. He lied there very still and unmoving. It was unnerving.

He watched the other for what felt an hour (it had only been 13 minutes) before he stood up because of a cramp in his leg. John swiftly got his chair close to the couch to sit there, feet apart, his elbows on his knees while he leaned forward.

Not sure what he would do _if_ Sherlock stopped breathing or the rate got under what was acceptable (it was very calm right now but still acceptable) but he intended to watch him all night if he had to. John moved his hand over his face for a second. He could already feel the day in his bones but he would soldier through, he had lived through worse (had he really? He wasn't sure in the face of Sherlocks friendship).

So he settled and watched the time drag on while nothing changed for Sherlock. He was completely out and not aware of anything. Though it was still better than anything becoming worse, so John was thankful for that.

After around 3 hours (long, _stretching_ hours) John noticed that Sherlock looked different. His position hadn't changed but he looked…lighter? Did that make sense at all?

John mused worryingly about it when he knew what was happening. He had never seen it before because it always happened after he fell asleep.

Sherlock was _fading_ away.

Not as in dying but he was becoming transparent, see through. John had always though that it happened from one second to another just like appearing around each other. Maybe that happened slowly too and Sherlock was just sneakier then he himself was.

Still, John got up and looked down on Sherlock. "Sherlock? I hope…," he swallowed before he continued, "that means that the drug is clearing out of your system. I would really rather you stayed but we don't seem to have a say in it. Please. _Please_ , stop with the drugs." He felt a sting in his eyes but blinked it away. Sherlock really had to stop, he insisted on it. "I will miss you very much but stop with them. I need you to Sherlock. It's already bad enough that you don't exist here. Remember what happened to the other you? Yeah? We don't want that. _I_ don't want that."

Strangely, this felt like saying goodbye and Sherlock couldn't even hear him, let alone respond. He just hoped that somewhere in that thick, amazing brain of his it would take root and stay there.

Slowly he bent forward and placed his hand so as if he would take Sherlocks hand reassuringly.

Two seconds later Sherlock had vanished and he looked at an empty couch. Standing up straight again he starred at it (his eyes didn't feel watery) before he bent down again and touched the cushions.

They still felt warm. This was either a very cruel trick or Sherlock had actually warmed the damn couch and left residue heat. Something he could touch that came directly from Sherlock.

It was only fair, Sherlock had, after all, taken his blanket with him, he thought stupidly.


	7. The Message

_Finally! Sorry guys for the long wait but my beta's really, really busy at the moment and of course real life is a priority. BUT I have good news too, the next chapter is also ready.  
Chapter Seven turned out rather long so we decided to break them up._

 _Just a heads up, the next one will be a shorter one but not the last. Enjoy!_

* * *

Life was dull. John's days involved getting up and going to work. After work he would go home and read the book Sherlock had left him (for some words he needed a dictionary) and when the day was over he would go to bed again and the next one would be exactly the same.

Of course there were the weekends but even then he would take extra shifts or just spend the day in a coffee shop and go home again.

Nothing exciting happened.

At least not during the last five weeks.

Five weeks and Sherlock hadn't appeared again. John wasn't sure how glad he felt about that. Sherlocks constant appearances meant that he was high _again_ but still _there_. That he didn't show up could only mean two things.

One was that he somehow heeded John´s wish and stopped taking the drugs.

The second option meant that Sherlock had taken too much morphine those weeks ago and died.

Which was something John absolutely didn't want to think about.

Not that he managed to stop that. The thoughts mostly showed up shortly before he fell asleep. He would feel this sudden urge to seek out the grave of Sherlock in his world. Which was silly, they hadn't even known each other here.

And John doubted that Sherlock´s brother would like that at all. He really could do _without_ meeting the older Holmes brother again (just to spare Mycroft the embarrassment).

Of course he could have gotten drunk and find out how Sherlock was doing (if he was alive) but he had demanded that both of them stop doing that. He wouldn't get deliberately drunk and Sherlock not high to meet each other. Not that Sherlock had listened to that but that wasn't the point.

The point was not to get drunk just to meet Sherlock.

 _I don't want to see the flat empty_ , a tiny part of his brain muttered.

So not getting beer it was. He didn't even have some in their flat.

His resolve was strong and didn't waver. Not the last five weeks and not now. He lived his dull days from one morning to the next and kept thinking about Sherlock. That probably wasn't healthy or normal but he was just concerned about a friend. Nothing more.

So it was a surprise to find a letter on his table the next day. It didn't look as if it came with the mail because it just lay there without an envelope. John briefly wondered if Mrs. Hudson had read the letter but scolded himself a second later. She would never do that.

Curious he hung up his jacket, picked up the card (it had looked like a paper but it was actually just a card) and read the message.

Relieve flooded through his veins in an instant. It was a message from Sherlock. He must have written it and deliberately placed it on the table to find its way to John. What a clever man.

The scrawled letters told John what to do on the weekend and while he had resolved not to do this he couldn't help himself and look forward to it.

 _'_ _Friday 7 pm. Stay home, drink beer. Make no plans - SH'_

* * *

John went shopping the same day and lied awake for the majority of the night. He wondered what Sherlock wanted to talk about and was glad that he planned this far ahead instead of sticking a needle into his arm.

While he stared at the ceiling in complete darkness he pondered if he should write a message back. Maybe answering it and saying that he got it but Sherlock´s message had gotten to him so it must be clear for the other that he had received it.

He was relieved that Sherlock was still there even if he couldn't talk to him and actually seek him out, that made his sleep that much better (when he finally fell asleep).

The next day was like a blur and still felt like an eternity due to work. John walked directly home and dreaded already the time until Friday. It would probably feel slower than usual.

Needing something to eat and tea he went into the kitchen and put on the kettle. When John opened the fridge he stopped short and starred into it. The head was gone and while another suspect looking box had appeared in it there was another reason for standing there and starring.

There was another note, lying under the milk. Curiously he took it and closed the fridge. In one hand he held the milk and in the other the note.

It was clearly Sherlocks writing again (who else would leave something _in there_ ).The detective seemed to make sure that he _really_ got the message.

 _'_ _Friday 7 pm. Don't forget the beer - SH'_

John catched himself smiling fondly at the note and snorted. Sherlock was just making sure their…meeting was secured. Walking over to the kettle he made himself a cuppa first and wondered what could be so important that he absolutely shouldn't miss it.

Sitting down with his tea and the note he tried to guess but came up with nothing. They never met on purpose so this was something entirely new.

There was no use pondering over it so John placed the note next to the tea, reminding himself to put it away where he kept the other card and picked up Sherlocks book again. He would just get take out and read the book to take his mind off of things.

Standing up again he walked over to the big table and looked through the booklets and tried to decide what to order.

He picked up one from an Italian place he couldn't recall ever ordering from. Maybe it had been in the mail and he had tossed it there to the others. John looked through it to see what they offered when a post-It note fell from it onto the table.

Confused he picked it up again and turned it around. "Really Sherlock?" he said to no one in the room. There was another message, saying the exact same thing as the other two just worded different again.

Amused he walked to his chair and put the post-it note on the other one. "Friday, alright. I can't wait either." John chuckled to himself and shook his head. For all his genius he never took Sherlock for someone who was over-cautious.

Apparently that was the case and John got the message for sure. Pleased with that he even looked up the Italian restaurant Sherlock had left him with the message and ordered from there.

The evening was uneventful after that and John could dive right into the book again. Only when his eyes began to feel too tired to read and the little bit left over tea was already cold did he close the book and stand up. He stretched and looked at the time.

He might as well go to bed. There was still work the next day.

Taking the notes with him he went to his bedroom. He turned the light on and opened his closet where at the bottom sat a box. John put the lid to the side and placed the notes in there, the first one already in it. Satisfied with that, he took out some sleeping clothes and changed. Only then did he turn to his bed and noticed that there was a piece of paper lying on the small table beside the bed, where the lamp was standing.

Starting to feel a little peeved he walked over to the bed and sat down on it before grabbing the paper. "I'm not that dumb you know? I can remember that little information," John mumbled to himself and opened the piece to read the message.

 _'_ _Friday 7 pm. Close the door too - SH'_

Well, that was interesting. Why would he need to close the door? Did Sherlock plan to do something? Perhaps he wanted to play a game, somehow.

It wouldn't be farfetched since they were able to touch the others stuff in the flat would Sherlock really go through that hassle just to play a game with him? He doubted that.

Now really becoming curious he put the piece of paper back to where he had picked it up and turned off the light. Might as well catch some sleep so Friday could finally start to crawl towards him. This was worse than those stupid cliff-hangers on the telly.

After an hour of _useless_ thinking about Friday sleep finally claimed John.

* * *

 _Thursday_. Fucking Thursday wouldn't end.

How could Thursday betray him so? Wednesday had passed without an incident, work at the hospital keeping him blissfully distracted. It had passed in a blur and John had grown optimistic.

 _Stupid_. That's what it was. How could he have let himself be lulled into that kind of thinking? Sherlock would have a field day with his optimistic behaviour. The speed that the previous day had been showing had obviously now been spend because Thursday _' .along_.

If John had been able to kick time itself he would have already done so.

Sadly that was not the case.

Exasperated he listened to the next patient rambling about how he felt ill (a simple cough obviously) and probably wouldn't be able to go to work (yes he could, that git). John was in a foul mood. He did try to keep it away from his patients and co-workers but it didn't seem to work when Molly asked him if he was alright when they met to eat together.

John simply couldn't muster the strength to answer in more words than one, laced with some grunts. The meal was mostly silent because Molly, the kind soul that she was, left him alone after the first failed attempts to get him to speak.

 _Centuries_ later his shift ended, nothing could've kept him in the hospital. He was off for the weekend since he had worked up quite a few hours with his extra shifts over the last few weeks and taken Friday off.

He was ready. He was ready and nervous and curious. Strung tight would be the best description.

Looking at the clock at home (the ride home had been fast, _of course_ ) he realized he still had a little under a whole day to pass since they would meet later on Friday.

He debated with himself if he should go to sleep early but that was stupid. It would accomplish nothing and he wouldn't be able to sleep now anyway. He needed to calm down first.

Which was easier said than done.

First John made himself some tea and intended to loose himself in the book once more. When that didn't happen (his thoughts were racing around too much) he turned the telly on, hoping that there would be _anything_ mildly interesting.

The only thing that John managed to do while watching crap telly, was musing over Sherlock. Did he watch telly too? He couldn't see that happening. Or did he enjoy certain movies or maybe shows? Probably scientific ones? Then again, Sherlock probably turned to books or looked it up on the Internet.

He should ask him when he saw him again.

Barely noticing what he was watching he continued to bring up questions over Sherlock. Was that strange? John shook his head.

They were just friends and it was natural for him to want to know stuff about his friend. To care about such things. He nodded to himself (anyone watching him probably thought he had a discussion with himself about a tough decision).

Looking at the clock, again, he was mildly surprised to see that two hours had passed. John didn't remember a second of the program he had turned on and it seemed that his constant musing about the detective had kept him away from checking the time over and over again. John could just hope that it would be the same case the next day.

He turned the telly off and changed his clothing so he could go to bed.

Throwing himself on the bed a pondered over when exactly he should start to drink the beer on Friday. Sherlock had written 7 p.m. but did he mean he should start drinking at the time or already be drunk? This was confusing and he didn't want to mess up whatever Sherlock wanted to talk about. Maybe the other was as nervous and excited as he was.

 _Probably not_ , his brain provided in an unhelpful way.

Unhappy with that direction of thought he turned around to drape the sheet over himself when he felt a strange sensation in his back accompanied with a rustling noise.

John blindly felt around between his back and the bed. After a few unsuccessful pats on the mattress he came to grab a sheet of paper all crumbled up. He pulled it out from under his body and held it in front of him.

Straightening out the paper he held it up in the air and read it in the light provided by the lamp on his bedside table.

 _'_ _Friday 7 pm. Looking forward to it - SH'_

A smile spread on John's lips and he stared at the paper. Leave it to Sherlock to say something uplifting even if he didn't know that John needed it.

The detective truly went overboard with the notes.

It was somehow endearing.

He would probably keep those notes forever. Together with the book it was a nice reminder that Sherlock was real and that no matter what happened (if this was their last meeting) that he wasn't a figment of his imagination.

Sherlock was as real as he could be and John was glad that he had been allowed to get to know him. If there could only be a better way to meet. Like, every time the water started to boil or some harmless shit.

They would have the time of their lives. He could imagine it. All these interesting cases Sherlock had (not that he had heard of many but _still_ ) and he could participate. Maybe not help but be there and listen. And all they needed to do was just to let water boil. No one would get hurt.

John silently chuckled to himself and turned off the light. He should probably go to sleep because these ideas were just getting ridiculous. It was wishful thinking too but mainly they were just silly.

With a sigh he closed his eyes and held the piece of paper in his hand. He had forgotten to place it on the table and didn't feel like turning around to do so now.

 _It probably is as close as I can ever get to Sherlock´s hand_ , his sleepy mind provided before he finally dozed off.

* * *

Despite the restful night John might have had he still snapped awake. The sun was just starting to shine into his bedroom and he groaned when the first thing he did was looking at the time.

Of course he would be up that early on a day he didn't need to do so.

Wearily he put a hand over his face and tried to recapture sleep. Of course it evaded him and he was left lying in his bed awake.

After a few minutes of lazily staying in that position he moved his hand away and sat up when it hit him.

 _Friday._

It was Friday. That meant that he would meet Sherlock again. His heart started to race in anticipation and he scolded himself mentally. There were still hours to kill before the desired time would crawl along. There was no need to get excited yet.

He stood up to start his morning routine. _Something_ to put his mind off of Sherlock. Not that it helped in any way.

Sherlock seemed to occupy his thoughts since he had left the first note (was it wrong that it happened in the shower too?). If he was honest with himself, then probably since their first meeting.

After emerging clean and finally as awake as he would get he stepped into the kitchen and prepared himself breakfast, mulling over the hours to come.

He definitely should eat before he started to drink the beer in the evening. Even if the point was to get drunk he needed to plan ahead and avoid getting so drunk that he couldn't really provide company anymore (not that he intended to drink that much beer). But this was still as much as he could plan ahead. It was Sherlocks idea to meet at an appointed time so he must have something in mind.

One of his first ideas had been that Sherlock wanted to say goodbye to John. Maybe he had finally quit the drugs and would inform John that their meetings stopped from now on.

Frowning at that thought he took a bite from his toast, upset with himself. His pulse was racing again and he felt nervous just because of that 'maybe'. But as much as he disliked that idea it might be the right one and he needed to be prepared for anything.

As fast as he could John tried to think up other options.

Sherlock might not even see this as the big thing that John made it out to be. Maybe he simply wanted to talk or have company in the evening. There could also be a case and (for some reason) the detective wanted his help.

Yeah, he liked that idea much better.

He finished his breakfast and even cleaned the dishes while he was at it. John needed to kill time anyway and he might as well use it.

His thoughts always drifted around the _maybes_ and _what ifs_ but he tried not to do so on purpose. He didn't have enough evidence to make any clear deduction (and wouldn't Sherlock just love that sentence?) and so he tried to drop the topic.

Around midday he cooked himself a nice meal.

He had even looked up a recipe on his laptop and made good use of the food that was in the flat. Another way to occupy himself and it even worked to some degree. John was proud when he sat down and started to eat, a nice and delicious foundation for the alcohol that was to come.

The next hours were absolutely torture and only Mrs. Hudson would be happy about it. John had for some unfathomed reason cleaned his flat. He hadn't known it could look that alright. Even when he had moved in it hadn't been that clean.

Sitting in his chair now and starring at the clock he mused over the fact that there was _a lot_ of stuff from Sherlock around. Cleaning up the flat had given him the opportunity to look over his stuff and he had been surprised by how much wasn't his.

Of course he also missed some things now but he was sure he could live without them since he hadn't needed them so far and barely remembered what it had been. Sherlock on the other hand probably missed some things of his chemical set which was now placed on his kitchen table. John would love to give it back but wasn't sure how to accomplish that.

Maybe Sherlock just needed to touch it when they met and it was his again. No harm in trying.

Looking at the clock yet again he was startled and relieved to see that there was only a little over thirty minutes to go.

John decided that it was alright to open a beer now. Standing up he retrieved one and felt a nervous fluttering in his stomach. Probably because this was the first time they met like this. Sighing to himself he took the first sip. He had the feeling that he had used that excuse now a hundred times.

Might as well try to be honest with himself and admit that he was nervous and excited to meet Sherlock again.

 _God five weeks was such a long time,_ he thought. He was just so glad that Sherlock asked him to drink beer and not get high. It wasn't a long time solution but John somehow felt better about it. He must have reached the stubborn man on the other side.

Sitting in his chair again he starred at the floor while he sipped his beer. It was strange drinking without actually having the intention to get drunk. The beer was just a way to accomplish meeting Sherlock. Hopefully it will soon kick in.

Maybe it had kicked in? Worried John looked around but nothing seemed to have happened yet. What if he was already past the point where Sherlock showed up but simply forgot the meeting? Surely not, he had gone to great lengths to make sure John new about the whole thing. a case had come up.

Yes a case sounded reasonable. A case could lure Sherlock away from him (from the appointed time of course, _not him_ ). And maybe, if it was a case, maybe he was-

"Really John? Worrying over me while I'm here?"

Startled John almost dropped his beer and looked over to the couch. There in all his glory and long limbs and stupid cheekbones was Sherlock, draped lazily over the couch in comfortable pants, a shirt and his dressing gown. The detective even dared to look smug. John wondered about why.

"Sherlock! Worrying over you? What gave you that idea?" John replied a little defensive, aware that he had been caught. Sherlock just smiled in response.

 _Ah, that's what he's smug about_ , deduced John on his own, even if he wasn't sure what gave him away.

"Like always John, I simply observe. Also, since we are supposed to meet it was clear that only _I_ can be the thing you worry about."

"Nh, then I won't bother denying it," John raised his beer in a mock little salute and took another sip. "Well, I'm here." Curiosity was bitingly strong in him and he wanted to know why they even had this date ( _appointment_ ). Looking expectantly at Sherlock he waited.

Sherlock just nodded and grinned at John, he had already known that he had been right. There was no need to reinforce that.

Standing up and walking over to the shelf with the books he retrieved a box. "One moment John, only one more thing and then we can start."

Which sounded quite mysterious to John. What would they start? What needed preparations? Still, he remained in his chair and watched Sherlock walking back to the couch. The tall man placed the box on the couch table and opened it.

John watched out as a nightmare unfolded. There before him was Sherlock preparing himself to shoot up. He instantly was out of his chair. "Don't you dare! What are you fucking doing?!" John felt cold dread running down his spine and wanted nothing more than to take the box and its contents and throw it out the window, no matter what people would think.

Sherlock just arched an elegant eyebrow while he prepared the syringe. "Relax John, I promise this will be the last time. I heeded your wish and didn't shoot up the last few weeks but this is something that must be done."

"Must be done? _Must be done_?! My god, Sherlock, you're about to get high why exactly? I'm already here!" He felt like punching something or someone. Preferably Sherlock if that would mean getting some sense into him. It probably wouldn't work.

The other just hummed in response and continued, the needle already in the crook of his elbow.

"Trust me on this. Please," Sherlock looked up while pushing the stupid drug into his bloodstream. "I planned this thoroughly and intend to follow this through. Everything will fall into place after that."

It wasn't fair of Sherlock to use that kind of look while asking him to trust him. To say _please_. Who did he think he was? John would forever have that image burned into his brain, Sherlock sitting there with a needle in his arm. He let that happen.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes John clenched his hands into fists and tried to remain as calm as possible. "And what, pray tell, is it that you have planned? That you intend to follow through that requires drugs?"

Somehow he felt betrayed. Yet he felt glad too. Sherlock had said that he hadn't taken drugs the last few weeks, did he not? Did that mean that he had heard him that night when he had become unaware of his surroundings? Had the withdrawal symptoms been bad enough to keep him trapped in this flat? Sherlock wouldn't like that at all. And if he had gone through those symptoms then he just put himself into a situation where he had to go through them again. For what exactly was still a mystery.

Sherlock just continued to look back at him and started to smile again. It clearly portrayed that the detective knew something that he did not. It irked him because he would have liked to have a word in this if it meant taking drugs and alcohol (and hadn't he agreed with all of this when he had willingly opened the beer?).

He was still waiting for an answer when Sherlock put the syringe in the box again and closed it. The detective then slid on the couch to the side near the windows and patted the place beside him. "Sit down John, everything will be answered shortly."

Reluctant to just do as Sherlock said because he was still being kept in the dark John simply opted to stay where he was and wait for his answer. After a minute his shoulders slumped and he walked to the couch, sitting down on it.

Had he grown soft or was it Sherlock that could command him around like this? John blamed the beer, it couldn't defend itself against that.

Warily he looked at the other and watched for signs of the drug. It would take a little while for it to start to work. Surely they wouldn't just sit in silence until then.

"So you've…gone through withdrawal?" John tentatively asked.

Sherlock looked fully at John and seemed very relaxed and alright with that question. He nodded slowly. "Indeed I have. Not my most glorious moments but I expect you to help me through the rest."

 _What?_ "What?" echoed in his head and apparently aloud too. "You can't expect me to stay drunk all the time even if I really want to help you!"

The detective just chuckled lowly and shook his head. "And you won't need to be the whole time. Like I said I have everything planned through and once the morphine kicks in all will resolve itself. You don't mind having me as a flatmate right?"

John felt overwhelmed by this conversation. He wasn't sure if he understood any word that Sherlock said or if he was just slow with the understanding. All of this sounded as if they would permanently see each other, which was frankly impossible. What exactly had Sherlock worked out? Why couldn't he just tell him?

"John," Sherlocks deep baritone tore him from the endless questions that popped up. "John, answer the question."

The question itself wasn't hard. It had an answer John already knew since he had come to know Sherlock. "Of course not. Just don't expect me to move to the other bedroom," he immediately said defensively. Because it was as much _his_ bedroom as it was Sherlocks.

The others smile just turned into a sly yet shy grin and John wondered if the morphine was already starting to work. "No, I don't expect you to…as long as you don't expect me to move. I don't mind sharing, not at all."

John blinked stupidly at this. His brain immediately provided him with images of him and Sherlock sharing the bed. Now that he came to think of it they already shared the bed, they just didn't see each other while doing so. And while he felt a light heat rising in his face he realized that he didn't mind that thought somehow. It would be alright with him.

Despite his fried brain (it felt like it) he managed to return the smile and snort amused. "Very well."

Sherlock just continued to look like that at John before he seemed to check his own pulse and inhale deeply. John shot him a worried glance. "Everything alright?"

"Everything is excellent John. I can feel it slowly taking effect. The time passes so much faster with you around."

John simply nodded at him in thanks for that compliment and took another sip from his beer before he placed it on the table as well. Being with Sherlock certainly had his advantages too. First and foremost the company he provided. Something only he seemed to provide in a manner so that John only craved more.

He looked at the detective absentminded, simply enjoying how he looked. Sherlock certainly seemed to belong on this couch, in this flat. They would make great flatmates was the conclusion John came to.

It was that Sherlock wasn't alive in his world anymore and this Sherlock was beyond his reach.

Whatever Sherlock had planned, he doubted that it would work. What could suddenly be the key if everything had stayed the same so far.

"Sherlock?" John asked and Sherlock was kind enough to look at him. He had started to stare at the table, the drugs must be kicking in.

"Mh?"

"Alright?" he asked again, just to be sure. Sherlock just smiled slowly at him again and proceeded to look down at his own hand.

"Would you hold my hand John?" came the unexpected question and made John blink. Confused he looked between both of their hands.

"I'm..what? It doesn't work Sherlock," he said firmly but flexed his own hand because that question alone reminded him of the feeling that always started when they passed through each other.

Sherlock didn't answer to that and simply reached over to John.

For a second John played with the thought to move out of the way because he was sure that he didn't want to see the disappointment on the others face. Surely he couldn't have forgotten so fast what would happen, no matter what drugs he took and-

Their hands met and Sherlock took Johns hand softly into his, intertwining their fingers.


	8. Closer

_And here's the next one for all of you. I'm hoping to end this with the next chapter but this story has done whatever it wanted so far, so what do I know ;)_

 _Boy, I almost forgot to post it because I won cards for the Civil War premier in Austria, like how awesome is that haha_

* * *

Eyes locking with the other´s John held his breath, not daring to do anything else for fear of this being a dream. It wouldn't be the first.

When Sherlock started to slowly slide closer to him so he wouldn't need to reach over so far John felt nervous. Any second now he would wake up.

Only warmth followed were Sherlock sat closer now. He felt real. He even _smelled_ real (did he smell Sherlock before!?).

The detective graced him with a warm smile and tilted his head slightly. "Breath John, everything is going like I wanted it to. It won't go away again."

It sounded promising. Too sweet, too nice. Yet John drew in a shaky breath, starring at their touching hands. Looking down to his leg where Sherlocks touched his, warmth spreading. Into Sherlock´s eyes.

"How?" John whispered, feeling that he would burst this strange magic bubble if he spoke too loud.

The smile Sherlock had given him was still there, not changing. "In the end, very simple John."

The detective settled comfortable on the couch, their hands still locked and lying on Sherlocks leg. If he leaned any more to the side he would lean into John. Both looked down at them.

"You may recall the first time we met: You had been drinking and the second time we met I was high," he started to explain, leaving out that he had been high most of the time they met. "While having quite a lot of time at hand, these last few weeks I decided to put every fact together that I collected about our situation. And the facts were quite obvious, you must have noticed that more and more things started to disappear and appear in the other´s ... flat," Sherlock looked up at John who followed suit.

John nodded numbly, curiosity burning in him.

Sherlock replied with a nod of his own before he continued. "I also noticed that the more stuff decided to..change the owner that some things simply merged. You have to remember the table. It was the first big thing that we both could touch, yet we ourselves couldn't touch the other. Quite interesting."

He seemed to fall into thoughts after that and John let him. It probably wasn't easy laying all this out to him while having morphine running through him.

As if jolted Sherlock spoke again.

"So, my first conclusion was that all of this was heading to a certain point. What would be the point of us meeting if it was just something insignificant? Something we experienced and then forgot about. Not that I could ever forget you John," Sherlock added hastily as if John would get angry for leaving the comment out.

"To be frank: We are supposed to meet, maybe even share the flat. As much as I loath to say this, maybe we can blame the drugs, Mycroft is right. ' _The universe is rarely so lazy'_. Which brings me to the second conclusion."

For a moment Sherlock flexed his fingers against John's hand, making a tingling sensation appear but very different from the passing-through-sensation.

It felt more exciting, the smooth skin against his own. Some callouses here and there making them rough in places. It was better than John could've ever imagined. He almost struggled to listen further.

"Only one of us was always intoxicated. Either you drank alcohol or I was taking drugs and while I would very much like to show up and say 'John I am as clean as I can be' I needed to do this one last time. We both needed to be intoxicated for this to work, for this to stay like this."

Silence followed after that, Sherlock clearly waiting for some reaction and John not knowing how to react.

John cleared his throat, tried to say something quite as meaningful as Sherlock had but what followed was the only question that raced around his head. "To..to stay like this? What makes you think it won't go away?"

He liked the thought that Sherlock would stay, that he could hold his hand just like now. The only thing he doubted was the prediction that it would remain like this. Maybe when one of them became sober again it would stop working and Sherlock would have gotten high for nothing.

A gentle squeeze to his hand pulled him away from his musings and he looked at Sherlock again.

The other gave him a reassuring smile and shook his head. "I am certain we will be real flatmates from now on. It will be better for the rent anyway," he joked.

John's heart beat wildly in his chest and he couldn't keep the edgy, nervous laugh in after that joke. It eased something within him and he squeezed Sherlocks hand back.

"I'm glad then…I missed you."

"Going cold turkey alone is quite boring, with you it will be better," Sherlock still smiled at him, as if this was such a common conversation for them (and wasn't it?).

A thought struck John then and he almost wished for the beer can to be back in his hand. He just didn't want to let go of Sherlock, so he remained were he sat.

"What about all the others? We have been living in two different…worlds. Won't that be strange?" What would happen with Mrs. Hudson? Or the DI Lestrade and Mycroft and all the other people. It was true that things had merged but never people. They were never really there for John and it probably was the same for Sherlock.

Said man just inclined his head and blinked, it was becoming clear that he had taken something.

"We will see in due time John. First thing in the morning if Mrs. Hudson stays true to her routine and makes breakfast or something quite as mundane." Sherlock gestured wildly with the other hand to show what he thought about such things. "Just…can we tackle that tomorrow? I really enjoy this evening with you."

John immediately squeezed Sherlocks hand again out of reflex, his heart jumping in his throat and he tried to scoff. "Drugs Sherlock, of course you enjoy the evening."

A deep hum came from the detective when his head finally found its way on John´s shoulder, settling down nice and fitting. "No, it's you. I know the difference."

John didn't know what to say to that and remained silent. The smell of Sherlock´s hair reached him and he inhaled deep when he started to recognize it for what it was. It must feel soft too, the way it felt on his neck and jaw.

They sat there like this in silence for a while. It was relaxing compared to the days before now, filled with questions and what ifs. Somehow Sherlock had managed to make Johns head clear in a nice and calm way. Just with sitting there with him.

At some point John believed Sherlock to be dozing off and asked in a low voice. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Mhh, no," answered Sherlock and somehow John knew that he was smiling now too. "Are you uncomfortable?"

Yet Sherlock didn't move after his question which seemed to tell that he knew the answer anyway.

John shook his head, using this as an excuse to brush more against Sherlocks hair. "Not at all but if you're feeling tired, you could go to bed," he offered and glanced down at Sherlock´s face. Some curls were blocking his view.

"Well," Sherlock started and seemed to contemplate it before he slowly raised his head, "if you lie down too? It would be a shame having you sitting here while I'm there." While speaking Sherlock already stood up but didn't let go of John's hand.

Pulling him up John stood now and nodded to the question, words having abandoned him in the moment. Due to being pulled up by Sherlock his chest touched the entire arm of Sherlock, trapping their clasped hands between them.

Their faces were so close and John could only stare at Sherlock´s eyes.

Sherlock´s eyes were drawn to John's lips after he licked them in a quick movement.

They stood there for what felt like hours before John slowly shook his head and cleared his throat.

"So, bedroom." He started to move towards the kitchen, planning on pulling Sherlock after him like the other did just seconds before.

He hadn't considered Sherlock resisting and pulling him back.

Sherlock let John turn towards him again and looked down on him. "John, I…what I want say, no ask is…," he stumbled over the words, trying to find the correct way to say it. In the end, he chose the easiest path.

"Can I have a kiss?"

John starred at the other, his body rigid. Not with dread but with anticipation. He wasn't sure if this was right with both of them intoxicated. They hadn't known each other that long now and their friendship had been perfect so far.

 _And yet._

Sherlock had asked him. The message was pretty clear.

When Sherlock even made a gesture with his free hand to show him that he only wanted 'a little one' John was sure he would laugh out loud and botch it all up.

He too opted for the safest route and closed the space between them.

Their lips touched in a shy, hesitating way.

John could feel Sherlock holding his breath before he slowly relaxed into it and squeezed Johns hand yet again.

It wasn't long before this innocent touching of lips turned into a real kiss with both of them responding, moving against each other in lazy, slow motions. Just tasting the other.

Relishing in the feeling that they were real and could touch each other.

Such a small thing and yet it was perfect in that moment.

Sherlock was the first to break the kiss but stayed leaning against John. His head on John´s, cheek and nose buried in the golden hair of the smaller man. John smelled nice.

John smiled against the others throat when he felt Sherlock murmur something into his hair.

"What was that?" he asked low, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere that had built up.

With seemingly great effort Sherlock moved his head so that he could be better heard. "Bed sounds really nice right now, I'm feeling sleepy. Nice and warmish, but sleepy."

John couldn't help himself and continued to smile, despite knowing the reason why Sherlock felt that way.

"If you want to go to bed you have to remove your head. Then we can walk there."

"Do I really have to?"

John started to move slowly backwards, snorting about the way Sherlock followed with little steps. "It would be faster, yes."

John didn't receive an answer to that nor did Sherlock remove his head and gave both of them more room to move. That's how they made their way through the kitchen into the bedroom where John didn't bother to turn on the lights.

Shuffling towards the bed he tried to turn Sherlock around and prompt him to lie down.

What happened was that he indeed tried to turn around but lost his balance (thanks to Sherlock leaning more into him) and fell onto the bed.

Both grunted because of that and started to move a bit so that they could lie more comfortably side by side.

Which was a nice way to describe the way Sherlock pressed himself to Johns side.

Not that John minded. Not at all.

Using the free hand, the one that wasn't trapped between them and still holding onto Sherlock, to card through Sherlock´s hair. There was no chance that he could ever fall asleep if he wouldn't do this now.

Should Sherlock really disappear the next day (no matter how confident he was about it) at least then he would know that too. How soft his hair was. How nicely the locks bounced back.

How Sherlock seemed to like it and placed his head in the crook between John's neck and shoulder.

John moved the hand away and placed it beside him, memorizing the feeling.

Sherlock already seemed to doze off, sometimes squeezing Johns hand and overall being relaxed by all this. He truly was sure that everything would stay the same.

While John still doubted. He almost didn't want to fall asleep but Sherlock´s presence, warmth, smell just felt so _natural_ that it lured him into a false sense of security.

It wasn't long before he too, dozed off.


	9. How It Is

John woke with a start. His whole body twitched before he relaxed again and turned to his side, drowsily throwing his arm to the side which landed with a dull, soft 'thud' on the sheets.

He almost went back to sleep until it suddenly hit his brain that he was _alone_ in the bed. Suddenly wide awake he threw his eyes open and searched the whole room without moving a muscle. Better not to disturb anything until he was sure what the situation was.

And the situation was that _no one_ was in the room with him.

John was alone. Sherlock hadn't stayed. And he had known that. Hadn't he? He had suspected that it would be wishful thinking from both of them. It had been uplifting to witness Sherlock being so positive about this. Then again, Sherlock had been high again, had buried himself into the topic until he had believed it.

If only he had been right about it.

Defeated he turned on his back and stared at the ceiling, feeling his eyes getting wet, though he refused to cry. He wouldn't.

It was just something they both hadn't had control over and it had defeated them. Simple as that.

Taking a stuttering breath, he forced himself to sit up and get out of bed. It was no use lying in it and musing over things that could've been.

John could do that as easily in the kitchen with a cup of tea.

Opening the door he was surprised to see that the lights were turned off because he was pretty sure that not one of them had done that while they had made their way through the kitchen. Maybe Mrs. Hudson had shown up and had decided to help him save some money.

Except that she had never done that before. Sure she brought him the mail and showed up from time to time but nothing like this.

Stepping through the small hallway John almost though his knees would get weak. There, in all his tall glory, stood Sherlock. Hair tousled from the bed, the dressing gown crumpled and clearly slept in while sleep lines adorned his face.

It shouldn't be allowed to look that amazing after coming down from a high and sleeping.

While John still tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Sherlock stood there, hopefully not with another shot within his veins, Sherlock turned to him. He looked amused once he gave him a brief glance.

He lifted up too cups to show that he had made tea and placed them on the table before he simply threw himself into a chair. "Tea, John. Just as you like it. No sugar but cream. You will find that it tastes amazing." A sly grin followed that statement and John simply walked into the kitchen and sat down, staring at the tea.

For a moment he thought he would ask Sherlock about the how and why (about them, not the tea) but decided to give into the tea first and took a sip of the hot beverage. Somehow, Sherlock had made it perfect but before he could say anything Sherlock was already leaning back. Clearly knowing that he had done a perfect job and his face screamed ' _Told you'_.

John cleared his throat, trying to look as unaffected as he could (he failed, he was an open book for Sherlock) and let his eyes roam Sherlock's face, neck, upper body again. Just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. And if the other hadn't stared at him like he did John would have pinched his skin. Again, just making sure.

It seemed that Sherlock took pity at him and scoffed amused. After a sip of his tea he simply talked, aware that John had wanted to say something.

"Here we are," he said amused. "Which, hopefully, is pretty obvious. Should be obvious."

Nodding slightly to that, John took controlled breaths and opened his mouth, only to be cut off again.

"No, I'm not high again John. Please, I did say I wasn't going to use anymore...maybe I didn't say it. We both know I meant it. Don't make me repeat myself." Sherlock sounded like he was above everything, as if this was a normal day and this was their usual morning talk.

Only that something else danced in those grey eyes. To John it looked like affection.

"And... I am glad it worked. Of course I knew it would work but to see the result myself...to see you sober, granted I do have a slight headache and tremors in my hand, but those things are not relevant. You are John."

And that felt like a confession, everything about this. The warm fuzzy feeling in John's stomach, the perfectly made tea and Sherlock's attention directed to him. John couldn't resist the soft smile appearing on his face, relief washing through him, his shoulders dropping.

He hadn't realized how tense his whole body had gotten after getting out of bed.

Sherlock wasn't any better though. John could clearly see the nervous energy in that lanky body. Sure, it could have been the drug washing out of his system but for some reason John got the feeling that this was only one of those reasons. No, the nervous energy was coupled with a slightly nervous look. Those clear eyes dancing over John's face and searching for something, anything and-

 _Oh_ , he should probably say something. So he did.

"I'm... also very glad Sherlock. To be honest, you... you gave me quite the scare, with waking up alone in the bedroom. I thought," John swallowed heavily and looked down at his tea for a moment before facing Sherlock again. "I thought it hadn't worked and I was alone again." The truth, clear honesty. Because he had been afraid. John had thought he would be alone and never get to see Sherlock again. How could they if John disapproved of the drug habit and constantly being drunk.

No, it wouldn't have worked out.

Yet here they were. Sherlock had found a solution and had taken action and it had worked. Truly a remarkable man and for some reason John had captured his attention. Despite this being some kind of supernatural thing. If he had been too boring for the man John was sure that he wouldn't have gone through all that trouble to merge their worlds.

If it was a merge. "What... happens now?" John had been lost in his thoughts and the question easily slipped out of him. Unaware that Sherlock had looked at him relieved and had smiled with his eyes when John had admitted that he was happy to be with him too.

"That, my dear John, is for us to find out. And isn't that _exciting_?" Sherlock sounded full of glee. Something new for him to explore, to create theories about and get results. A very unique experiment and both of them were probably the only participants who knew about it.

With some weird mixture between amusement and nervous energy John looked at the other. This really would be an adventure and it would start by finding out how the people would see them. Did John suddenly pop up, despite knowing Sherlock for quite some time now? Would people question Sherlock's sudden appearance in John's life?

Sherlock was right, this really was something to explore.

As if on cue (the universe really _was_ busy, wasn't it) the door to their flat opened and Mrs. Hudson came into the kitchen, through the living room.

"Sherlock!" She yelled around the corner before stepping into view. "You've got a cl- Oh John! It's so nice to see you back!" Mrs. Hudson cooed in an all too familiar way that made it hard for John to tell if this was his Mrs. Hudson or Sherlock's. "You have to tell me how the trip was for you! Shame on you for not telling me you're already back. I had reached a point where I thought Sherlock and you had a fight and you left. Never do that again," she scolded him with a hard tone before slipping into the usual hyper energy she seemed to have.

Before she could go on did Sherlock stand up and look bored at her, taking in all this new information about John and the merge. "Mrs. Hudson, you were about to say?"

"Oh yes, silly me! There's a client downstairs and since it's pretty early I wasn't sure if you wanted to see him-" she was about to trail off again but this time John bumped in. Just to see if he could. Everything about this was new despite being familiar (except the client thing).

"You can show up into the flat, you know we don't mind…uh a case." Glancing at Sherlock he saw that the tall man had turned around to place his cup of tea in the sink, a small smile on his face. So John hadn't misjudged.

Sighing softly he nodded once more to Mrs. Hudson, before she slipped away to get the client, and then looked at Sherlock.

"Well…this is going to be…interesting and difficult. Based on… Mrs. Hudson we do have a life together and-"

"And now we figure it out together too! Very exciting, this will keep us busy for quite some time. Additionally to the case, granted if it's any good. Oh John, you-…where are you going?" Sherlock frowned when John stood up and turned away, the attention of the blond man gone as well.

Turning around John waved at Sherlock. "Go on! I'm just going to… I need pen and paper. This is the first case I can witness myself so I want to take notes! If my blog still exists I could start to write down every case." With that he was gone, searching for the utensil in the bedroom and emerging just as quickly.

Sherlock gave off a soft "Ah," and watched after John. When he was back Sherlock stared at him, appreciating how willing John was to accept all of this. This new life, this situation. Everything.

The detective wasn't able to voice all of this, if he would have tried it wouldn't have sounded like anything that he had in mind. So he kept silent about it and suddenly started into motion.

"Come John, we need to re-arrange the living room! Your chair needs to be here and mine needs to be placed here." Stepping back to view the changed to the room, Sherlock nodded to himself before he frowned and started to drag the couch table a little bit to the side.

John stood between kitchen and living room, a notepad and a pen in his hand, while watching all of this unfold. Amusement and fondness working through him. He just let Sherlock do as he wanted and for some reason he had the feeling that this wasn't going to change anytime soon.

Life would certainly stay interesting with Sherlock.

He really hoped the lanky git would want him around for a long time because he wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

 _ **That's it. I made it.**_  
 _ **Thank you to everyone who tuned in and stayed with me! I do apologize for the long wait but we all know those excuses don't we - this tho, feels like a perfect end. For me.**_

 _ **See y'all**_


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